Boulevard of Broken Dreams
by furby23
Summary: Wealthy patron Raoul de Chagny has been kidnapped and Opera managers are receiving threatening letters regarding emerging star Christine Daaé. Private Investigators Erik and Mme Giry are called in to find out what's going on, meaning they have to keep a close eye on the young soprano. Erik seems to hate Christine who seems horrified of Erik, but things aren't always what they seem.
1. Chapter 1

Sometimes Antoinette Giry regretted the loss of the upper floor of her office. The extra storage space, the little sitting room where she could unwind and take breaks from work, the view of Paris from the windows. Sometimes she regretted losing these things, but on the whole she was quite pleased with what she had gained from giving these up nearly ten years ago.

She had been terribly uncertain when Nadir had brought up the concept, telling her about his associate from Persia who was in dire need of a job and a place to stay. In fact, she had outright refused upon hearing what exactly he had been up to in Persia, but Nadir had steadfastly vouched for the man and she trusted his judgment enough to agree to at least meet him before deciding.

She'd never forget that first meeting when Nadir had brought him in. He had warned her beforehand of his appearance so she wasn't surprised when he arrived and he didn't mince words about it - apparently the man was horribly disfigured under that white mask that covered nearly all of his face. From what she could see of the skin that showed through the openings of the mask on his right side, she could believe it. He had prepared her with a description of him, but nothing could prepare her for his actual presence - well over six feet tall, impeccably dressed, light amber eyes that held a piercing gaze, dark hair slicked back - the man oozed intimidation.

But one did not get far in Antoinette's line of work by showing when one was intimidated, so she drew herself up to her own full height of five and half feet, jutted her chin out, and eyed him up and down in a show of dominance.

"You must be Erik," she said in place of a greeting.

"Yes," he had taken his hat off and held it politely in his hands.

Manners, then, she had noted.

"What's your last name?"

He dropped his gaze to the ground.

"I don't have one."

She raised an eyebrow at Nadir, who gave a small shrug in return. Erik was telling the truth.

"If you expect to work for me, you need to know I don't tolerate any nonsense," she told him coldly.

"Yes ma'am," his tone was serious but the ghost of a smile tugged at his mouth as he remembered the conversation he had on the way over, with Nadir telling him in no uncertain terms that he better not fuck this opportunity up.

"We track down missing people here. The point is to keep them from being harmed. We don't solve our problems here with a Punjab lasso. Is that understood?"

His eyes widened for a brief moment at the mention of his weapon.

"I am... familiar with the concept."

Her mind still wavered. Was this really a good idea? An assassin helping in missing person cases? But he could bring a different perspective to it, and the man did nothing if not cut an imposing figure - something she could desperately use in her work. She was excellent at what she did, but it was so difficult to be taken seriously by the men in her field and by clients who doubted the ability of a woman. Erik could be quite helpful at lending credence to her skill - a man such as him who would follow her every word, who would stand behind her during investigations? He would hardly even need to do anything, just stand there and glower and already her whole business would look ten time more effective. She sighed inwardly that such a thing was needed, but the fact remained that it was. Antoinette Giry was good at what she did, but Giry and Erik would be afforded more respect.

"If you slip up even once, Nadir will hear about it."

Erik glanced over at Nadir. He was Erik's friend, yes, but he was also the chief of police and Erik knew there were only so many times Nadir could overlook his actions.

She paused as she regarded Erik, his eyes still focused on the floor. In all the years she'd known him, Nadir had never steered her wrong.

"You may stay upstairs, if you wish, and your room and board can be deducted from your salary."

He raised his eyes to meet her gaze.

"Thank you."

He sounded sincere enough, but it was terribly difficult to read any emotion on his face due to the mask.

"You may stay tonight, if you'd like - Nadir has informed me that you are somewhat between residences at the moment."

Erik nodded.

Antoinette looked at him expectantly, glancing towards the stairs that led to what would now be his rooms. He stood there awkwardly, not taking the hint.

"You may go to your room now, Erik," she finally told him.

"Oh! Yes ma'am. Thank you," he hurried up the stairs, his long legs allowing him to climb two steps at a time.

She watched him as he quickly disappeared from view and wondered what she'd gotten herself into.

"He's afraid of you," Nadir chuckled.

Giry smirked.

"Is he really?"

"He knows he's running out of chances for a fresh start. It's so hard for him to find work because of-" Nadir motioned to his face. "- he doesn't take well to people mentioning it, and so many people insist on mentioning it. Did you know he applied for a job at the Opera Populaire?" here Nadir lowered his voice.

"Oh?" Antoinette was thinking of her daughter who danced there. "Does he play an instrument?" she couldn't imagine him being on stage in any capacity due to his face, so the only other option had to be a musician.

"He plays beautifully - and he sings, too, he sings like a dream, Antoinette." he sighed before continuing in a whisper. "He auditioned for them and they wanted to hire him, but they refused to do so unless he removed his mask. Can you imagine? They wouldn't even let him play hidden away in the orchestra pit unless he removed it. Well, obviously he can't, and he fought them on it but they were quite insistent on the matter. He told me that they even tried to remove it forcefully. He was crushed. He actually cried over it. He had wanted nothing more than to be able share his music with others, even when he was... otherwise engaged, in Persia. But now it looks like that's never to be."

She glanced over at the stairs. That imposing man reduced to tears was an image she couldn't picture. She shivered.

"So I wanted to thank you, Antoinette, for doing this. A mind like his needs something to focus on, a problem to solve, a quest to keep him busy, or otherwise... Otherwise I fear he'll fall into something unsavory yet again."

She shot him a look of alarm and he winced at his choice of words.

"Not- not anything like what he did in Persia, I'm certain he's put that kind of thing behind him - but fraud and thievery are still unsavory, you know. I imagine he'll be on his best behavior here, but if he's not..."

Antoinette nodded. "I'll let you know."

Nadir brought in Erik's bag of belongings and took them upstairs to his new room. As he shook Erik's hand in farewell with one last admonishment to behave himself (which garnered no more than an eye roll from Erik) Nadir was stuck between being glad to finally have the man out of his own small apartment where he took up so much space and being concerned that he could no longer keep as close an eye on Erik as he wanted. Either way, Nadir shook his hand and left.

The following morning when Antoinette arrived in her office she knocked on the wall next to the stairs and called out for him. He arrived within moments, once again dressed finely and ready to start work. She spent the better part of the day showing him her filing system, explaining how she expected him to behave with clients, describing the policy procedures and investigation codes of conduct. Finally she had glanced up at the clock.

"I'm going out for lunch today. Would you like to come along?"

"No, thank you."

She nodded.

"Here is the extra key, in case you get back from your lunch before I do," she slid the key across the desk to him.

"Ah, no," he glanced over at it from the stack of current case files he was absorbed in. "I meant, I will not be eating lunch today at all, I am not hungry. I would much rather catch up on these cases."

So she left him on his own for the afternoon.

It had only been a half an hour after she had gone that the door swung open once again, a little bell ringing to alert him of the presence of a client.

He glanced up. A girl of about fifteen had entered and was staring at him with burning curiosity. He set the case file down and straightened in his chair.

"Is- is Antoinette here?" the girl asked as she crept closer to his desk.

"She is out at the moment, but I am her associate. How might I assist you?"

Ahhh, so this was the strange man Maman had been telling her about over dinner last night. Her eyes lit up.

"I'd like to report a kidnapping," she said, breathlessly and with far more enthusiasm than Erik thought was entirely healthy. "I saw him quite well, you must take down his description!"

Erik pulled a drawing pad and a pencil out from a drawer and set to work rendering the face she described. He turned out to be quite talented with a pencil, a fact that delighted Meg to no end as she made up feature after feature of this fantastical kidnapper and watched as Erik dutifully etched them into being.

"And his eyebrows were big! No, bigger. And he had a mustache. No, not like that, like a handlebar mustache. Yes, and it went way out - no, farther than that! Oh, that's a little too far, don't you think? Yes, that's better," she happily described from her perch on the chair, leaning over the desk with her chin propped on her hands as she made him erase and redraw over and over again.

Antoinette returned from her lunch to see this strange scene. She frowned.

"Meg, what are you doing here? Don't you have rehearsals today?" she walked over to look at what her daughter was engrossed in. "Why are you bothering Erik?"

Erik paused in his work, glancing from Antoinette to what he now realized was her daughter. The girl -Meg, apparently- had a mirthful smirk on her face as she caught Erik's eye. It was in that moment that he realized he'd been had. There was no kidnapper.

"Rehearsals were cancelled today, Maman - the stage caught fire."

Antoinette sighed wearily.

"That's no reason to bring this nonsense here," she told her as she gestured to the sketch. "I have to pay him for the work he does, you know."

"You would have to pay him regardless of if he sat here and read or if he drew me a picture. At least I got a picture out of it!" Meg made grabby hands for the piece of paper, which Erik reluctantly tore from the book and handed to her.

How terribly embarrassed he was to have thought that it was real, an embarrassment that only deepened when Meg looked at the paper frowned, sliding it back to him and tapping her finger on the space in the lower corner.

"You have to sign your name right here," she pouted.

His face flushed red under the mask as he gripped the pencil and scribbled out his name in the corner. He hated how childish his handwriting looked, how difficult it was to get the letters to look right, the amount of effort that went into something so seemingly simple especially when his skill at drawing in all forms was so good. But it seemed every skill he had with a pencil suddenly vanished when it was time to write words.

Nevertheless he returned the signed paper to Meg, who took it and positively skipped out of the room. He and Antoinette stared at the door she left through for a moment before Erik broke the silence.

"I assume Nadir will be hearing of this, then."

And Antoinette couldn't help but laugh at his grave and serious tone.

He took to the work like a natural, falling into it easily and pursuing cases with a determination that rivaled Antoinette's own - he often would skip meals and, she suspected, sleep, when he was working, a course which often brought about the conclusion of cases much quicker than expected. His mind was that of a genius, she marveled, and wondered at what his life could have been like had he been gifted with a face like any other. He was always respectful of her, never doubted her ideas or opinions simply because they were hers - a novel concept for her when working with a male partner. And though he excelled at field work he also never balked or complained when assigned paperwork. When working with the police or other detectives he knew when to speak up and when to stay quiet - to push for her ideas to be heard when they fell on deaf ears, to push on doors as they were attempting to be closed in their faces, and to push Antoinette to keep continuing when things got difficult.

She regretted the loss of the upper rooms, yes - but she never regretted Erik.

In turn for all he did for her business, she also graciously allowed him the use of basement in which he somehow managed to drag an entire organ into. She never pried about his past or about Persia or what was behind his mask. She allowed him days off at a time when he needed them, after she realized that on occasion he suffered from debilitating headaches. And perhaps, in Erik's mind, the most important thing she did for him was to treat him no differently than anyone else, although she surely wasn't even aware of this or how it affected him. She never cringed under that preternatural gaze that he couldn't help, never let her eyes linger with disgust or morbid fascination on the skin that peeked out from the corner of his mask and trailed down his neck, never shied away from the accidental brush of cold fingers when handing him something, never cowered next to his imposing height. She treated him like a human, like a person, not some circus freak, and for that she had his undying gratitude and loyalty.

And so the years had marched on, the two of them working cases and enjoying each other's company.

Nearing that ten year mark, he had insisted on gifting her with a small remodel of her office, and she had to admit that it was looking rather nice, especially the new door.

The harsh lamplight glinted off the golden lettering on the glass of the door - 'Madame Antoinette Giry, Private Eye'.

Said Madame sat behind her desk, stared at the stack of paperwork and rubbed her temples. What she wanted more than anything in that moment was a cigarette - she could almost taste the overpowering flavor of ash and fire, but she had sworn them off ages ago, a promise to her now-departed husband when they had first married. She hadn't had a cigarette in twenty five years, and she had no intention of having one now - but sometimes the urge was there, all the same. She pushed it out of her mind with a long sigh and finally began to settle to the task of sorting the papers when a knock came at the door - blessed distraction.

She knew it could only be one person this late at night, and as she opened the door she found she was correct. The police chief was there to greet her.

"Nadir, come in."

She graciously ushered her friend inside.

"How was your day? Hopefully better than mine."

Nadir sat on the couch and sighed.

"That Jospeh Boquet again," he shook his head. "He's spending the night at the station - again. He was out in the square, roaring drunk and picking fights," Nadir pauses. "Again."

Antoinette chuckled at this. The stage hand at the Opera where her daughter worked was quite troublesome. It was far from the first time he had to spend the night at the station.

"How is Erik?" Nadir asked.

Antoinette frowned.

"He couldn't work at all today. He's been quite incapacitated with it all, but hopefully it passes by tomorrow."

Nadir made a sympathetic noise. "Such a shame he's not able to take anything for it. Is he upstairs right now?"

"Yes. I've had twice as much work on my plate because of it. He normally does all the filing, and I'm sure he won't mind having to get through the backlog of it all, but I did think it would be nice if I could help him out so he doesn't have so much to do when he's feeling better, but-" she gestured to the stack on her desk. "Clearly it is not going how I intended."

Nadir began to speak but was cut off by a voice coming from the stairs.

"It appears we have a guest," Erik was slowly descending the stairs, gripping the handrail to keep his balance.

The last remnants of the throbbing headache were still lingering, the desk lamp burning his eyes and making him squint and scowl. The dark circles which were a constant under his eyes looked all the darker.

"Erik," Nadir greeted him. "I was just asking about how you were doing."

"Yes, Daroga, and you were doing so in a voice which could wake the dead, hence my sudden appearance."

"So you heard about Boquet, then," Nadir chuckled.

"Who the devil cares anything about Boquet in the slightest," Erik pressed the heels of his hands over the eyeholes in his mask as he slumped onto the couch near Nadir.

"I care, when I have to escort him in such a state as he was tonight. He took a swing at me, you know."

"Daroga, I have half a mind to take a swing at you right now."

But Erik made no move from where he was lazily sitting and neither of the others gave his threat a second thought - they were far too used to his grumpy moods when he was in pain.

"Oh, Nadir, I received word that Christine Daae is on her way back, did you hear?" Antoinette found the letter from several days ago that had been buried under other papers. "She's hoping to get an understudy role in the latest production, apparently her training in England went quite well."

"Good, good." Nadir nodded. "The poor girl has had quite a difficult time, I'm glad she's had something go right for a change. Do you know when she'll be arriving?"

Antoinette shrugged sheepishly.

"The letter was from days ago, so I imagine she could show up at any time."

"Well, I'll keep an eye out for her at the Opera."

Erik perked up at the mention of the opera. He had recently felt there had been enough years that had passed after that heart-wrenching audition to perhaps finally go to a show every now and then, although he hadn't gone yet and he had barely played much at all since that night. The organ in Giry's basement was just gathering dust, his violin just sitting in a corner on his bedroom. He had tried to play something every now and then, but the spark was gone and he didn't think he'd ever get it back again. Still, listening to an opera held some appeal for him, if the singers were good.

"What's this about then?" he asked.

"Christine? Oh, I don't think you've met her, Erik. She's a little older than Meg, they were in the ballet and chorus together when they were younger. I knew her guardian, Madame Valerius - Christine is an orphan, you see - but Valerius passed away a number of years ago as well, and Christine has spent the last five years in England studying music."

Erik's mind had started to glaze over somewhere around 'they were in the ballet together' - it was simply too much detail and so many words and he couldn't keep up with them all. He had merely wanted to know who the opera singer was, but apparently that was too involved a story. No matter, he thought, if she was still attempting to land an understudy role, she couldn't be that good.

"Oh, yes, I see," he offered instead.

He rose from the couch and surveyed the massive stack of paperwork.

"It is late, Antoinette," he said gently. "You should go home and get some rest. Leave the papers to me, I will finish them."

"Are you certain, Erik?" she wanted to protest, wanted to help lighten the load for him, but she still stood up because she would be lying to say she wasn't exhausted.

"Very."

"Thank you. I'll see you tomorrow, then."

Nadir rose as well and followed her out, bidding Erik farewell.

Erik turned the lamp on the desk off, opting instead to open the blinds on the window to let the streetlight in. He brought a few candles down from his room and set them in strategic places around the office. The room remained obstinately dark, but he had always been good at being able to see in low light, and least this wouldn't aggravate his migraine. He enjoyed the silence as he worked, so he stayed up for hours sorting and filing the papers. Fatigue began to set in around the early morning hours, at which point he left the remainder of the work for later, closing the blinds and blowing out the candles and shuffling upstairs for sleep.

When he awoke once again, a glance at the clock informed him that he had not only slept past the normal hour they opened the office but had also slept through half of the lunch hour. He sighed. Surely Antoinette had seen to opening, then, and had left him to sleep. She would be at lunch now, the woman never neglected her strict schedule of breaks from work, something Erik was terrible at.

She must have left the radio on when she left, he mused. There was the sound of singing coming from downstairs, an operatic tune being sung by a woman. It was quite good, he thought to himself as he adjusted his wig and mask by feel as opposed to looking in a mirror. He found himself humming along softly as he continued getting dressed, until, as he was putting on his cufflinks - the last of dressing routine - he decided to sing along with the radio, emboldened by being the only one there to hear him.

He only made it halfway through a verse, however, when the lovely voice from below suddenly stopped. He stopped a second later, a sudden wave of horror hitting him and threatening to make the world tip sideways.

That wasn't the radio.


	2. Chapter 2

Christine breathed in a deep breath of the Parisian air and smiled. Being back in France made her heart feel full, even if a number of her memories here were bittersweet. She missed her Papa and she missed Mamma Valerius, but she felt closer to both of them when she was here. She couldn't wait to see her old friends from the Opera Populaire once more. Being away from the for so long had caused her to lose contact with some of them, growing apart from others. But Meg had always faithfully answered her every letter, and the two were still close.

She spent the cab ride over to Madame Giry's office thinking about all the friends she'd left behind in England, about which ones would turn out to be the Megs of that portion of her life and who would fall away over the years, busy with their owns lives. She pulled herself out of that reverie as she realized that the traffic was heavier than she had remembered. She fretted over the time, she should have left earlier.

When they finally pulled up to the office it was just past noon - and if Madame Giry still kept to her schedule, as Christine assumed she would, that meant she was out at lunch. She knocked on the door and tried the knob. It was unlocked, so she opened it.

"Madame?" she called out.

Silence.

She must have just missed her. Christine cursed her poor timing and sat on the couch with a sigh. She would wait here until Giry returned. She had lost contact with so many people in Paris that she had no where else to go - the only friends she could visit instead where busy with practices for the auditions coming up. Meg was hoping to become lead ballerina, and Christine was hopeful that she would. She loved the idea of the two of them up there one day, she the lead soprano and her friend the lead dancer, just as they had plotted and planned when they were teens.

She pulled a small mirror out of her bag, taking in the state of her hair after her travels. It seemed to fall more on the side of frizzy than curly, as she felt it often did. She bit her lip and began to comb her fingers through it before rolling and twisting it into a bun, sticking pins into it to hold it in place. She checked it in the mirror once more, sighing at the loose pieces that were somehow shorter than the rest and had found their way out of the bun and insisted on sticking out at odd angles or hanging annoyingly in her face. Still, it was the best she could hope for, she assumed and tucked the little mirror away.

She got up off the couch and began to glance over some of the papers on the desk. When she had lived in Paris before Madame Giry had often told her about cases she was working on, and Christine had especially loved hearing about the ones where everything had turned out well in the end. She looked over the files, careful not to disturb the order they were in, wondering about how close these people were to being found and reunited with their loved ones. She smiled to think of the work that Antoinette did. She thought perhaps if she hadn't fallen in love with the opera that she might have liked to work for her here. Christine had never told anyone so, too embarrassed by the thought, but she had always pictured Antoinette Giry as a kind of superhero, the type one would read about in the novels or comic strip stories, and even though she was no longer a young girl with a head full of dreams who looked up to her best friend's mother as though she were magical, she still held the woman in very high regard.

Well, if she must wait in solitude, then she might as well make good use of the time.

She began to sing softly, practicing the words to song she was planning to use for her audition. She knew the song quite well, but that still didn't keep her from being terrified that she'd get on stage on suddenly forget the words. So she sang as she examined the knickknacks on the bookshelf and wondered at the setup of the room which she thought was different but couldn't be certain - perhaps Giry had remodeled it since Christine had been here last, or perhaps it simply been so long since that her memory was fuzzy.

She let her mind wander, and as she did, she ceased to control the volume of her voice, letting it get a little louder.

She was more than halfway through the song when suddenly there was another voice - a man's voice - singing along with her.

She stopped. So did he.

Her face flushed a bright red. She had no idea someone was in here or she never would have been singing. Why hadn't he said something when she called out for Madame? Had he not heard her? She had forgotten that the office contained an upstairs. She buried her face in her hands and groaned, then turned around with the intent of calling out to whoever was up there.

What she hadn't been expecting, however, was that the man would already be standing at the foot of the stairs when she turned around. She hadn't heard him come down - he moved as silently as a ghost, she thought afterwards.

Since she hadn't been expecting the man to be standing there, and she most certainly hadn't been expecting someone so tall with such piercing eyes and a white mask that covered most of his face - Christine Daae did what was only natural, if somewhat impolite, in such a surprising situation.

She screamed.

She certainly hadn't meant to, especially since the man's reaction to that was to wince and flee back up the stairs, but it was an involuntary action on her part.

Christine was overcome with embarrassment. The only way that could have gone worse, she berated herself, is if she had fainted right in front of him. She had no clue how to go about introducing herself to someone after she had screamed upon seeing them, so she took the only option that seemed viable in that moment - she ran out the door.

Erik paced back and forth in his room. He had scared her quite badly! The poor thing was terrified of him! He certainly couldn't go back downstairs again. He was angry at himself for scaring her so, and he was embarrassed for not realizing that it was a flesh and blood human downstairs and not the blasted radio. He never would have began singing if he knew he was in the presence of another person - he hadn't sung in front of anyone in ages, and he certainly hadn't intended on doing so ever again. Not after Persia.

He bit his lip in frustration. Whoever she was, she was a beautiful singer and under other circumstances he would have liked to get to know her - but that was certainly out of the question now. He cursed his foolishness and carelessness when he should have known better not to sing and sneak up on people, he cursed his damned face that necessitated such a mask that still managed to frighten people senseless, he cursed Nadir for insisting Erik couldn't spend the rest of his days living in an abandoned basement and instead needed to attempt to integrate into society. Erik had, yet again, doomed another acquaintanceship before it had even begun simply by virtue of being Erik.

Christine hurried down the street as fast as her feet would carry her without drawing attention to herself. Her face felt like it was on fire. He must think her horribly rude! And surely running away had only made it worse! But she could not help it, she couldn't bear to face him again after that. She prayed Madame Giry would hurry back from her lunch and be able to soothe things over. Christine wouldn't blame the man if he never wanted to see her again.

Finally Erik heard the door open once more. He waited. Sounds of soft footsteps and a coat being slung over the coatrack drifted up to him.

"Antoinette?" he called out uncertainly.

"Yes, Erik?" she replied.

He stormed down the stairs.

"Who was she?" he demanded.

"Who was who?"

He scoffed.

"The girl who was in here, the singer."

"Singer?" Giry paused for a moment. "Oh, it must have been Christine. I told you about her, remember?"

"Well why didn't you warn me she was coming here today?" he was aware of the petulance in his tone but was unable to contain it.

"I simply didn't know, Erik," she shrugged. "Why, what happened?"

"I scared her half to death, that's what happened!" he snapped.

There came a loud and insistent knock on the door, despite its being unlocked, as though whoever it was outside wanted to make their arrival very known.

Erik could see through the frosted glass enough to tell the figure knocking was the same height as Christine. He turned away and faced the bookcase, still peeved at how the situation had turned out earlier.

Antoinette opened the door and wrapped the smaller woman in an embrace.

"Christine! Darling, I've missed you so! Do come in!"

Christine smiled nervously, glancing over to the tall figure by the bookcase.

"I missed you terribly, Madame. How have you been?"

"Busy," Antoinette sighed. "But otherwise quite well. I'm sure Meg will be thrilled to see you again."

Christine couldn't help the continual dart of her eyes over to Erik, and Antoinette noticed.

"Christine, I'd like you to meet my business partner, Erik," Antoinette motioned over towards him.

Christine nodded. Madame had mentioned a partner she worked with occasionally over the years, but Christine had never met or even seen him before, and Madame had certainly never described him or made mention of his mask.

Christine took a step towards him as he slowly turned to face her. She held her hand out to him and hoped he wouldn't notice how it trembled slightly.

"How do you do, Monsieur?" she tried to smile.

His gaze dropped to her outstretched hand. He clasped both of his own hands behind his back. He wasn't wearing gloves, as he hadn't been expecting to have to touch anyone, and he was aware that his hands held a perpetual chill to them. He didn't want to startle her yet again by placing that icy grip around her own small hand which was probably quite warm.

"Mademoiselle," was his only reply to her, and he desperately hoped that blush he knew was coloring his hidden face wasn't also creeping down his neck.

Her smile faltered and she let her hand drop. Was he still mad at her, then?

"When is your audition, Christine?" Antoinette saved her from her own thoughts.

Christine turned and walked back over to the couch.

"Tomorrow, actually."

At prompting from Giry she began to tell stories about what it was like in England. As she spoke her eyes drifted over to Erik every so often. He seemingly wasn't even paying attention to her or anything she said, instead opting to focus on the case file he had picked up, studying it with his mouth set in a firm line.

She let her eyes wander over him as she continued talking. He was so tall, Christine didn't think she'd ever known anyone that tall. She herself was barely five feet, Erik practically towered over her. She could tell that the mask must be hiding some sort of mark or scar, judging from the skin around the edges of it. She longed to ask him to sing once more, she had only heard his voice for a moment, but she was almost certain that he was incredibly skilled. But she couldn't ask that of him - she could barely even address him.

"Do you - do either of you - mind too terribly if I stayed here until the ballet auditions are done? I don't really have anywhere else to go, you see."

"Of course you can, dear," Antoinette nodded.

Christine looked over to Erik, who let his gaze linger on the file for a moment longer before glancing over at her. His cool demeanor sent a chill through her.

"It makes little difference to me either way," he looked back down to his work.

Christine nodded and pulled a book out from her tote bag, leaving them to their work. In truth she got very little reading done, instead listening to their muted conversation over the case they were working on.

Erik stole glances at her from the corner of his eye. She spoke French quite fluently from what he could tell, but every so often she'd lapse into an accent which sounded almost Swedish. Her golden hair was twisted and pinned up, with a few elegant curls left out. Her nose, with a delicate scatter of freckles running across it, crinkled in concentration as she read her book and Erik found this awfully endearing. He found himself wishing he could hear her singing voice again. Perhaps- perhaps she would be onstage at some point, the directors would be fools not to have her sing onstage, and perhaps he could sit in the audience and hear her sing and-

He shook himself. It would not do to think of her so, she was clearly uncomfortable around him, and Erik was too much of a gentleman to force his presence into someone's life that clearly didn't want him there - imagine how terrible it would be for her up there on stage and for her eyes to drift across the audience and catch sight of his deathly white mask staring back at her - no, no he couldn't do that to her. He probably wouldn't even see her again after today.

So when she finally took her leave to go see Meg, Erik thought that was the end of it. However, it was most certainly not.

She returned the very next day, bursting into the office as Antoinette was getting ready to close up, and announced that she had landed the understudy for Marguerite in the upcoming run of Faust. Erik, who had already retired for the evening, could hear her excited new being conveyed to Antoinette.

Bafflingly enough, she continued to visit the office over the next several weeks, preferring to spend her breaks from rehearsals lounging on Antoinette's couch. Most often Erik would find excuse to go upstairs or out - it was easier that way, he thought. He found he would hang on her every word about the opera rehearsals, form questions in his mind that almost slipped out of his mouth, found his eyes would wander from his work to where she sat. On some of those occasions he would find that she had been looking at him as well, only to turn away from him quickly. Had he been any other man, perhaps he would have taken these moments in a more flattering light, but he knew the most obvious and likely reason she was looking was to get a better glimpse of what was under the mask. He had experimented with different styles of masks in the past, hoping to find one that managed to cover it completely, but any that did so ended up impeding his vision or ability to speak and eat - so he was stuck with this one that left areas around his eye and chin visible even though he would much rather have them covered. His neck, at least, could be covered by a cravat. But that gaze on him, even for a moment, made him uncomfortable. It felt like being judged, like being on display once more - like childhood memories he'd much rather forget. So it was easier to simply leave.

Leaving was not always an option, however, and that's how he was there to hear her excited yet conflicted delivery of news to Antoinette one day.

"Oh Madame, you aren't going to believe this - I have such news to tell you!" Christine bounced on the balls of her feet.

"Is it good news?" Antoinette stopped her writing to look up.

"I think that depends, you know - I'm sure it's awful to take joy in someone else's bad news but oh-! La Carlotta is ill!"

"Christine - congratulations! Do you know how long she'll be out?" Antoinette was pleased.

Christine shook her head.

"A week, at least - I'll be doing four performances for certain!" she beamed.

Christine did feel guilty about being so happy to hear that the diva was sick, but all of the hard work she had put into learning her understudy role was finally about to pay off. Marguerite in Faust! She could scarcely believe it. It was a dream come true.

Erik paused and looked over at Christine.

"Congratulations, Christine. This will be a wonderful opportunity for you, indeed."

"T-Thank you, Monsieur," she was surprised at being addressed so directly, and so sincerely.

Erik thought about Christine's news for the rest of the night. Faust was one of his favorite operas... And Christine was a wonderful singer. Perhaps it wouldn't be too odd, in that case, if he were to go see the show, just maybe.


	3. Chapter 3

Erik tried to talk himself out of feeling so terribly foolish as he prepared to go out for the evening.

It's not like he was planning to go somewhere, no - he was merely taking a walk around the block. If he happened to pause in front of the Opera House, well, people pause in all sorts of places. Just because he was going inside didn't mean anything in particular. And just because he bought a ticket didn't mean he was actually going to have to stay the entire time.

It was simply time to go see an opera, he hadn't been to one in over ten years. Besides, the manager who tried to grab his mask off wasn't even working there anymore. Erik had been up in his rooms far too long, it was high time he went out and mingled with humanity... Never mind that he wasn't overly fond of most of humanity.

It certainly had nothing to do with how the sun reflected off her bouncy curls, or that little spring in her step, or those forget-me-not blue eyes. Besides, even if he were going because of Christine, well - Christine was a friend of Antoinette, and he was a friend of Antoinette, and that was almost like doing a favor for a friend in that case. There was nothing strange about that. Was there?

He simply wanted to see an opera, that was all.

He sat in the back, where he hoped he would be less conspicuous, and settled down into his chair. The lights dimmed and the stage lit up, the orchestra warming up. He shifted.

It was a little uncomfortable to be there, more uncomfortable than he had anticipated. He wondered what his life would have been like had he gotten the job here - what his life should have been like.

That should be him down in that orchestra pit.

Hell, that should be him up on the stage.

But it never would be. He'd never be up there, and he'd never even play for the people up there, and both because of the same infuriating reason. It bothered him more than he cared to admit, and he was very nearly about to slink back out into the night when Marguerite came on stage.

At the first note from her perfect mouth, all of those thoughts quieted.

Christine was perfection itself.

He didn't think he'd ever seen or heard anything so beautiful as her up there on that stage. He realized that when he had heard her sing in the office, she had been holding back. She had a lovely strong voice then, but this - this was otherworldly. He sat transfixed throughout the entire performance. No other voice could even come close to the pure quality of hers, it was as if he were hearing the angels themselves. She had always been rather pleasant to look at, but onstage she was radiant. His heart twisted at the sight of her, eyes sparkling and voice lilting. How could such beauty exist in a world like this one?

Before he knew it the opera was over and he was out in the street drifting home. He walked in a daze, his heart beating slightly faster, his mind replaying her arias, his entire body covered in a warmth comparable only to the morphine he used to take long ago.

He hung his coat on the coat rack out of habit and went through the motions of getting ready for bed. But as he lay there staring up the ceiling he realized sleep was not going to be soon in coming - his mind was far too preoccupied and there was an itch in his fingertips that he hadn't felt for years.

He got out of bed, threw on a robe, and made his way down to the basement. He swept his hand smoothly over the keys of the organ, clearing the dust and cobwebs away, and he sat down in front of it. A tentative touch to the keys, a test of if it still worked or not, and moments later his hands were flying across it as though he'd never left.

He revisited old compositions of his own, and started on news ones that had begun to germinate in his brain. He played throughout out the night and into the early hours of the morning, stopping only because he didn't want Antoinette to come in and hear him.

Erik decided to forgo sleep entirely, instead taking the remaining few hours to freshen up before it was time for work.

It was a day for field work, interviewing people at places of business where the latest missing person used to frequent. As such, Erik knew he wouldn't be seeing Christine, a thought that was surprisingly disappointing. Still, there were at least three more performances he was planning to see. At least when she was on the stage he could bask in her presence without frightening her or have to face her morbid curious stare.

Out on the street, Antoinette glanced over at her partner. He kept rubbing his hands and wincing. Most people thought the mask hid any sort of telling what he was doing with his face, any way of deciphering emotion, but after so many years Antoinette could always tell - the narrowing of the eyes, the slight twitch in his neck - Erik was in pain.

"Are you alright?" concern colored her voice.

"Perfectly fine," he replied.

She paused before replying gently.

"If you think you're getting another attack, you can always take the day off. I don't mind so very much. I'd much rather you head it off early than try to fight through and end up making it worse, you know."

He nodded.

"Your concern is noted."

They carried on to their destination.

How could he explain that he had been awake all night composing, that Christine was an angel sent from heaven to bless an undeserving heathen like him with the gift of music once more, that it wasn't his head that was bothering him but his hands which had grown weak and stiff after years of disuse? He couldn't, but he also knew she wouldn't push him to divulge anything he didn't want to, so he continued to rub at the sore tendons in his fingers. He knew he should take it easy, perhaps take a few days off from playing, but even still he felt the urge to play at that very moment, pain and all. He sighed. It was going to be a frustrating wait for his hands to catch up once more with his mind.

It was a relief then that in all their interviews that day it was Antoinette who took down the notes, as usual. Erik already struggled with legible handwriting, but with his strained hands he doubted he could even hold a pencil.

In the evening they compared notes and their suspension leaned towards this case being less of a missing person and more of a woman attempting to flee an unhappy marriage to a brutish husband.

"We aren't going to tell him, are we?" Antoinette held up the page of notes from the shipping docks, where the woman was last seen boarding a boat to America.

"No," Erik replied flatly. "We should string him along with false leads until she's reached her destination."

Antoinette nodded.

"And after? Perhaps it would be best if he thought his, ah, beloved wife has met with an untimely end."

"That would be best, I think. He certainly isn't going to stop looking for her otherwise," Erik paused. "Although, if you want my humbly offered opinion - perhaps it takes quite a while to find she's come to an unfortunate fate - I must say I'm enjoying the amount he's been paying us and would hate to see that end anytime soon."

"Erik!" Antoinette tried and failed to replace her laughter with a stern look.

She swatted at him with a stack of papers, but didn't say they would act contrary to his plan. He noticed this lack of correction and grinned.

"Did you see Christine in Faust yet?" she changed the subject.

Erik paused. Of course Antoinette didn't know that he had gone to every performance, all four of them so far, and had sat enraptured through each one.

"La Carlotta is still sick, so she'll be out for another week. Christine will have two more turns at the role," she continued. "You should go see her, I think you'd enjoy it. And I'm sure she'd love it if after the performance you stopped by her dressing room to tell her she did well or something. She was on cloud nine the other day telling me about the people who had showed up at her door to compliment her, just like she was a famous diva."

"Oh?"

Why did his heart do a funny little skip?

"Perhaps I will," he finally murmured. "But I don't think she'd appreciate me showing up at her door, she's afraid of me, you know."

Antoinette looked surprised. Christine had never mentioned being afraid of Erik, but now that she thought of it, Christine had never mentioned Erik at all.

"I don't think she's afraid you," she started.

Erik scoffed. He could still hear her echoing scream from their first encounter, could still see the way her eyes would dart away from him when he'd look at her, still remembered the stutter in her voice whenever she found it necessary to address him directly.

"Regardless, do you really think the poor girl wants to open her door and see _this_ standing there?" he gestured at his mask.

"You're too hard on yourself," she shook her head.

"I am only as hard on myself as life has necessitated I be," he stated.

At the sound of her sigh, he frowned. He knew she didn't like this subject, didn't like to think of how his life was so different because of his face. She never thought differently of him because of it, and he thought that was very sweet of her, but he also felt it was rather naïve too. It might not make a difference to her, but she was in a very small minority in that opinion. Besides, _she_ had never screamed upon seeing him for the first time.

"So the Robinson case is settled, what about the Jones case?" he offered, hoping there wouldn't be more to their conversation about his mask or Christine.

Blessedly, she dropped the subject.

The next evening he took part in the same ritual he had been for two past two weeks. He walked to the theater, hands in his pockets and gaze straight ahead of him, bought his ticket without eye contact, slouched down low in the closest chair towards the front as he dared to risk, and pulled his opera glasses out of a jacket pocket as soon as Christine came on stage.

For those next hours the rest of the world ceased to be and all there was or ever would be was Christine, Christine, Christine, like the steady beat of his heart. She was, in a word, sublime. When the performance was over his ears were still ringing with the sweet intoxication of her voice, of her very soul that she poured into those notes projected throughout the theater. What was his life before he heard her?

He lingered in the lobby, too embarrassed to ask where the performers' dressing rooms were, instead watching who went where and working it out from that. He slowly made his way to the hallway that he now knew her room would be down, pausing at the entrance for a moment.

What would he even say to her? He barely spoke to her in all the times he'd seen her before. What if she opened the door and screamed again? No, he couldn't do this.

He turned without ever even going down the hallway, walking out into the night. His hands were still shaking with nerves from the self-thwarted near encounter. He smiled wryly to himself as he shook his hands out. The best way to steady himself and gain some composure would surely be to sit at the organ keyboard for a while - and he already had a new aria buzzing in his head.

The next two workdays passed in a haze for him, his mind constantly wandering to both his music and her voice. He wondered, perhaps, if he wrote something for her, would she agree to sing it? He could think of so many lovely pieces that would suit her voice...

As he settled down into his seat one last time, the haze lifted and he felt real once again. He hung on every note, every pause, every gesture and movement of hers.

When he left his seat after the curtains fell, he walked a few circles around the lobby, trying to gather his nerve. Who knows when La Carlotta would be sick again? For all intents and purposes, this was realistically Christine's last performance for the rest of the season - at least. If he wanted to say something to her at her door, this was it. There would be no second chances.

He squeezed his hands into fists. Why was he so nervous? He hoped beyond anything that they could let bygones be bygones and start over together. He knew he was an imposing man, but surely if she could get past that then she'd find he wasn't too terrible to be around.

He was sweating behind the mask, and it was starting to itch, but he couldn't be bothered with that right now. He'd go up to her door, knock politely, and maintaining a respectful distance from her, he'd bow and congratulate her on a wildly successful run. Perhaps he'd tell her that he was a musician, that he hadn't played in years and hadn't expected to ever again until he had heard her sing. He would thank her, of course. Perhaps he would kiss her hand... He had come prepared, wearing gloves and all.

He started down the hallway which was crowded with various people there to give their respects to the lead actors and dancers, and some where even there for the cast from the smaller roles. Family members and friends and strangers from the audience all stood around various doors, some asking for autographs and some giving gifts. He should have brought her something, he thought to himself. Or was that too forward?

He walked past a rather grubby man leaning against the wall who didn't seem to be there for anyone in particular, guzzling something from a flask only to stop and stare at Erik's face - or rather, Erik's mask. Erik raised an eyebrow - though no one would have known - and frowned at the man. The man shuddered and flinched under that yellow gaze, and Erik felt the fleeting gloat of possessing such power right along with a pang of self pity and concern that that very gaze would in mere moments be turned on a young woman whom he did not wish to frighten - again.

The drunkard slipped from his mind like a ghost as he turned to see Christine's door was already open, her standing there and smiling down at a small girl of about ten for whom she was signing a program booklet. His mouth was suddenly dry and he forgot all the well rehearsed words he had planned to say. He was nearly there, nearly within distance to catch her eye, When from the opposite end of the hallway a young man arrived with a bouquet of pink roses on his arm.

"Little Lottie!" the man cried, spreading his arms wide at the sight of Christine.

"Raoul!" she cried, flinging herself into his embrace as he kissed the side of her face. "Oh, you made it! I've missed you so!"

Little Lotte? What the devil did that even mean? Lotte was in no way short for Christine. Clearly these two had history together, an inside joke or something to account for the pet name. Erik felt flushed and he was certain he was squeezing his hands so tightly that his knuckles must be bone white by now.

"You're coming to dinner with me, Lotte, no excuses, now!"

Christine laughed at this and agreed with him.

Every last nerve Erik had managed to gather suddenly left him in a spectacular crash. What was he doing here? Why did he think she'd want to see him? That she would care about his stupid music he wrote in a musty old basement? This was madness, and he was a fool to ever think otherwise.

He ducked his head and pushed on down the hallway, trying to walk as fast he could past her door without her noticing.

"You pick the restaurant, Raoul, I'm fine with anything. And you simply must tell me every detail about Antarctica, and I'll tell you all about England and- oh!"

Christine pulled back from his embrace, a frown on her face as she scanned the crowd. For a moment, she had been almost certain that she had caught a glimpse of a familiar white mask above the many faces, but as soon as she had seen it, he had disappeared again. She stood on her tiptoes and peered down to the other end of the hallway.

"What is it, Lottie?"

She bit her lip.

"Nothing, I suppose. I - I thought I saw someone I knew, that's all."

But what would Erik be doing here? No one came down this hallway unless it was to greet someone, but he had walked right past her. Did he know someone else here, maybe? She shook her head. She must have been imagining things. But still, she found the thought of Erik watching her performance was one that made her heart race. She wondered what he would have thought of how she did, if he would have liked her voice and if he thought she was better than La Carlotta in this role as several other performers had confided in her.

"Never mind, Raoul. I'll be ready to go as soon as I change out of this costume."

He grinned.

"Fifteen minutes!"

She closed her door and sighed. Erik would not have come to her performance, she would have bet anything on this. He still hated her for how she had reacted to him at their first meeting. He could barely stand to even be in the same room as her, she had noticed how often he'd find excuses to leave when she was there. Of course he wouldn't pay money to watch her for two and a half hours. No one likes to be disliked, so of course it was unpleasant to know someone disliked her, but she found herself rather surprised by just how bitter the disappointment was that came along with those thoughts. With a flip of a switch, she turned off the lights in her dressing room as she left. Turning off her thoughts of Erik proved to be a far more difficult task.


	4. Chapter 4

Erik huffed and fumed at himself all the way back to his apartment. Was this _jealousy_ he felt burning in his chest? Over what? That boy? That _Raoul_?

He had no reason to be jealous - after all, it's not like he wanted to be in that boy's place, hugging Christine like that and demanding she go to dinner with him... Did he?

_Did he?_

No, no, it couldn't be that. Erik just wasn't like that. He didn't want... _Those things_. Although, a small part of his mind reasoned, that didn't mean he didn't want to have dinner with someone, or be able to give a hug to someone cared about.

Cared about, he scoffed. When did he start _caring about_ Christine? The very nerve of him! She didn't want his care.

Erik had made many bad choices in life, had done more regrettable things than he could count, but the one thing he could say for himself was that he had never made a stupid choice. Unsavory, cruel, wrong, illegal, even evil, but never stupid - until this night. Trying to talk to Christine at her dressing room door was the stupidest thing he'd ever done, and he _burned_ with shame at the thought of it. If he had actually gone through with it, he never would have lived it down.

But still, for a few brief moments, it had seemed like such a good idea. Like he could have actually done it and it would have gone okay, like he could have been like any of those other people there chatting excitedly about the show.

But he would never be like any of those other people. That was a lesson he thought he had learned a long time ago, but somehow, somehow he had let himself forget. Never again, he swore. He would never do anything so foolish again.

He slammed the door to the office harder than necessary, hearing the hinges complain loudly, and even in the midst of his temper tantrum he mentally made a note to check on those in the morning and repair them. He stalked down to the basement and grabbed the half written compositions he had been working on, the ones for Christine's voice, and crumpled them in his fist. He yanked open a drawer and fumbled for a match, finally finding one and flipped it over his knuckles for a moment. A quick movement would be all it took, one scratch and those stanzas would go up in glorious flame, purged from the earth.

He paused, lost in thought as he stared down at the match.

He done the very same thing so many years ago in Persia. All of his compositions that he had worked his entire life on at that point, gone in a moment of rage and anguish. He still regretted that, what he had done. What he had lost, not because someone had taken it from him, as it had felt at the time. But what he had lost because he had thrown it all away.

He put the match back in its box, and smoothed out the crumpled papers before stashing them away behind a stack of books on the bookshelf. Maybe one day, he told himself, one day he could look at those works again and not feel like this. Maybe in another twenty years.

He sighed. Now that the fit was subsiding, all he was left with was growing ache in his head, the tension in his neck and shoulders. He wearily marched up the stairs, shucked off his jacket and vest, and fell onto the bed. Then, he realized with a groan that tomorrow was a work day. He scrawled a note for Antoinette, hoping it was legible enough, and left it on her desk before returning to bed, and this time he remembered to take his shoes and mask off.

There was no one to be mad at but himself, he thought as he blinked blearily into the pillow. It wasn't Christine's fault she was frightened, it wasn't Antoinette's fault that she wanted him to be able to do normal things like a normal person, and it wasn't that boy's fault he was in possession of the most perfect nose Erik had ever seen.

He was awoken in the afternoon by the sound of high pitched sobbing. He jolted upright, wincing at the pain still lingering from the previous night, and had to stifle the urge to simply run downstairs and see what the matter was.

"My dear, what's wrong?"

He heard Antoinette's fearful voice and a tear-choked voice that, by the time he finished dressing and righting his wig, he realized was Christine's. He caught pieces here and there of what was being said, but it was difficult to follow her story entirely.

He made sure that his footfalls on the stairs were extra loud as he descended slowly, wincing at each one magnified in his own head.

When he finally arrived downstairs he scowled at how bright it was. Antoinette was sitting on the edge of her desk, a comforting hand placed on Christine's shoulder. There was a letter in Antoinette's hands, and she frowned down at as she read it again and again. Christine looked up from sobbing into her hands, saw Erik, and cringed.

Erik looked away, hoping to lessen her discomfort, and took the long way around the desk to stand by Antoinette and read the letter over her shoulder, avoiding having to be near Christine as much as he could.

Christine sniffled into her hands, mortified. She must have snot dripping down her nose, she thought. How undignified. She knew she struggled to look presentable on a good day, and crying her heart out certainly hadn't improved matters in regards to that.

"Oh, I'm so afraid, Madame," she managed between hiccups. "W-what if h-he's...? Oh!"

"We'll find him, Christine, I'm sure he'll be fine until we find him. Look, dear, they wouldn't want a ransom if they intended to harm him."

Antoinette handed the letter to Erik and moved to embrace Christine.

"You have to tell us everything about what happened last night, okay? Even the smallest detail might mean something, so don't leave anything out."

Erik scanned the letter once, then twice, then again.

"Who the devil is Philippe," he stated.

Antoinette clicked her tongue at him.

"Erik! Show some decorum, please."

"What? The letter is addressed to Philippe, yet Christine brings it to us. Why?"

"It's about R-Raoul," Christine tried to explain, looking up at Erik.

Oh. Raoul. Erik stared back at Christine, who flinched away from his stare, but continued on.

"He g-got this letter this morning, you see. I was out with Raoul last night, after my performance - I was in the opera - and afterwards we went out for dinner, and I guess - I guess when we parted I went home and he... Well, he never turned up. And Philippe - that's Raoul's older brother, you know - Philippe received this letter this morning."

"And Philippe is not here because? Too busy to look for his little brother?" Erik sniffed.

"Philippe- he insisted that I bring it here," she countered weakly.

"And _why_?" Erik drawled.

Christine's face flushed.

"Well, he didn't tell me why."

"And you just agreed to let yourself be dragged into this for no good reason? This letter makes no mention of you at all, this matter is seemingly between that boy and his brother."

Christine was flustered at this and didn't know what to say. It was the most he'd ever spoken to her, and it was to scold her.

Antoinette shot him a glare.

"Oh, don't mind Erik, dear, he's just a grumpy old man."

"Hmm," Erik offered no denial, but he also offered no apologies.

He rose with a long-suffering sigh and made his way to the tea cart in the corner. He tuned out the soft murmurings of Antoinette as she tried to help Christine steady herself, instead putting his entire focus into the tea he was preparing. He then returned to the desk, placing a cup for Antoinette and surprising Christine by placing a cup in front of her as well. She looked up, hoping to make eye contact, but he was already facing away from her, drinking from his own cup.

"Thank you," she told him softly, but he made no acknowledgement and she wasn't certain if he had even heard her.

The warm silken taste of chamomile wrapped around her and she managed a small smile.

"Do you have any sugar?" she asked.

Erik turned at this.

"Sugar isn't good for your voice," he said flatly.

"Neither is crying, Monsieur," she countered promptly.

Well. She had a point. He brought the sugar bowl over for her.

"Whenever you're ready, Christine," Antoinette told her kindly.

Christine nodded and took a few more moments before beginning.

"Well, it was just after my performance, and I was in my dressing room. I had my door open, and there were a few fans there to talk to me - a little girl, two women, and then Raoul."

Antoinette nodded, writing down her notes.

"Raoul asked me to go to dinner with him."

_Asked._ That wasn't how Erik remembered it.

"So I told him I needed to change out of my costume and then I did, and we went to dinner."

"Where?" Antoinette asked.

"The Italian place on Rue Cambon."

"Details," Antoinette prompted.

"Well, we sat out in the middle at a table, we both had pasta, we- we had some wine... Rather a lot of wine, I suppose," she blushed. "So we had to get a cab to drive us back. Then we, ah-"

Erik trained his gaze on the floor. He wasn't sure he wanted to hear the rest of this, and he stifled the urge to shift around in his chair, uncomfortable.

"Ha, well, you see, Raoul had the driver drop us off in the middle of the street and we- we continued on with our night."

Christine seemed to pause there, waiting for Giry to finish writing, but once Giry had finished and looked up expectantly, Christine was still silent, anxiously twisting her handkerchief between her hands.

"And then?" Giry asked.

"Uh, well," Christine cleared her throat.

Erik was about to suggest that perhaps Christine would be more comfortable telling the rest of that night's activities if he were not in the room, and was surprised that the normally tactful Antoinette had not caught on to this.

"And _then_, well, we walked around for a bit, and we-"

She looked nervously back and forth between the two of them and gave a fearful giggle.

"Well, I mean, you're not going to tell the cops, are you? Can you- can you keep some things, you know, off the record?"

Antoinette's eyebrows shot up.

"I can't promise that for certain, Christine," she said slowly. "But I won't take anything to the police without a very good reason for it - if it will help us find him, I might have to."

"We, er, we _went_ to the zoo, as it were," she offered.

Erik placed his elbow on the table, resting his chin in his palm and letting his fingers and hand cover what little was left visible of his face under the mask. The gesture implied he listening, was interested, but it also provided him absolute privacy for his facial expressions - an excellent way to hide the smirk that was playing across his face at that very moment.

He, too, had broken into the zoo while it was closed on numerous occasions in the past. He liked the animals, but didn't care for the crowds of people, and he certainly didn't care a fig about the "no trespassing" sign on the locked gates.

"So we walked around the zoo for about an hour... Raoul had saved up some breadsticks from dinner, and we, well, we fed them to some of the birds, you see."

"Bread isn't good for them, you shouldn't," Erik interjected from behind his hand, but his golden eyes were shining with mirth at the thought of Christine's exploits.

"I know, I told him that, but he insisted they'd be fine 'just this once, Christine!', and he did it anyway," she shrugged helplessly.

"Is there anything else?" Erik asked.

"Oh, um- ha ha, well, Raoul loves cats, you know- and there's an exhibit of lovely black-footed cats from Africa," she twisted the handkerchief in earnest once more. "He quite wanted to- to _appropriate_ one so he could keep it as a pet - and it really is a darling little cat - but I stopped him before he could go in the exhibit. He was terribly close to jumping over the fence, you see."

"And then?" Erik prompted.

Antoinette was trying her best to look disapproving, the silent laughing shaking her shoulders ruined the look.

"Well, it was quite late by then-"

"What time?" Erik cut in.

"Past midnight, I'm sure... I don't know the exact hour. So then he dropped me off at my apartment and that was the last I saw of him."

"Did you notice anything out of the ordinary?" Antoinette asked.

Christine shook her head.

"No, nothing. I keep thinking that if only I had paid more attention, or if we had a little less wine, maybe I would have seen something, but-"

She cut herself off, at a loss.

Erik held up the letter.

"They mention a debt to be paid - can you tell us anything about that?"

Christine frowned.

"No, I don't know anything about that. Raoul didn't mention any debts, at least not to me," she paused. "But he is the new patron of the Opera Populaire. He invested quite a lot, from what I hear."

"We'll have to talk to Philippe, and the restaurant, and the opera managers," Antoinette mused out loud. "You take the restaurant, I'll take the manager's and the cab driver, and I want us each to talk to Philippe separately."

"What about me, what do I do?" Christine asked anxiously.

"Nothing yet, dear," Antoinette told her. "If we need anything else we'll contact you."

Christine nodded unhappily.

When she had left Erik and Antoinette set out to begin their questioning.


	5. Chapter 5

The head waiter eyed Erik suspiciously as he approached. A flick of the wrist and Erik produced his badge from the sleeve of his trench coat and showed it to the man, which if anything heightened the waiter's suspicion.

"I'm investigating a missing persons case and would appreciate your assistance in the matter," his words were polite but his tone brokered no debate. "Did you notice anything suspicious last night? Any odd customers?"

It turned out it had been a slow evening the night before, the only customers were regulars there - and many of them performers or crew from the opera. Erik took down a list of their names just in case, and spoke to more of the staff who had also worked that evening. All agreed it had been a normal night - mostly small groups of singers celebrating after the show, a few stage hands here and there, and several customers who were not usual guests of the establishment but also didn't draw much attention.

At the Opera Populaire, Antoinette was inquiring about Raoul's new position as patron.

"He's been quite generous," the manager shrugged. "There seems to be no limit to what he's willing to spend. He doesn't strike me as... The _brightest_ young man, but he's very likable. I can't imagine anyone wanting to harm him."

Antoinette nodded.

"He hasn't mentioned any kind of troubles? Has he made reference to any kind of a debt, or owing someone something?"

"No, nothing of the sort."

"Have you ever met his brother, Philippe?"

"He's often spoken of his brother - he thinks the world of him - but I've never met the man, no."

Antoinette scribbled down a note and was about to ask another question when the door tentatively opened and a young girl from the concierge entered, frowning.

"Someone just dropped off this letter, they said it was urgent," she held out an envelope to the manager.

He opened it quickly and turned pale.

"Wha- what's the meaning of this, then?" he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped at his brow.

Antoinette reached for the letter and looked at its contents.

"No, no... Who gave this to you? What did he look like?"

The girl fidgeted nervously, unsure of what was going on.

"He was average height, a big grey cloak, black boots... He had a good up, I couldn't see him very well."

The words were barely out of her mouth before Antoinette shot up and ran down the hallway at full speed, past the concierge desk and out into the street.

She ran first one direction, then the other, eyes wildly searching all the while, but she could catch no sight of the man who left the letter. He was gone. Her gaze drifted down to that letter still clutched in her shaking hand, that familiar spindly script forming words that made her blood run cold. Written by the same hand that wrote Raoul's ransom note. She seemed frozen there in the middle of the sidewalk for a moment, the world rushing on by while all she could think of was the threat to Christine spelled out in those thin mocking ink lines. The stupor broke and she ran back inside the Opera House, down to the ballet rehearsal rooms where she knew Meg would be practicing.

"Where is Christine?!"

Meg jumped at the sudden surprise, Antoinette's fear seeping into her as well.

"She was just here, why? What's happened?"

"She isn't safe - we need to find her right now!"

Meg darted out of the room and her mother followed.

Christine was found wandering a hallway, blissfully ignorant.

"Christine!" Meg threw her arms around her.

"Meg! What's happened?" Christine asked in wonder.

"I don't know, but Maman said you weren't safe! Are you okay?"

Christine felt panic rising up in her.

"I- I think so?"

Antoinette reached them moments later.

"Oh, Christine," she breathed. "You need to come with me, my dear. I'm afraid something has happened."

Christine raised a hand to cover her mouth, tears forming in her eyes as she noticed the letter in Antoinette's hand.

"Is it Raoul?"

"No, dear," Antoinette paused. "It's about you."

Even after sitting in Giry's office for the past hour, making idle small talk with Meg, Christine can't shake the tremble to her hands. Antoinette had let her read the letter after Christine had practically demanded then begged to be able to do so, but only after the door was locked.

"Jammes was so mad that the costumes for the second dance are going to be red - she says it'll look awful with her hair. But you know, I'm quite pleased with it because it looks just lovely with _my_ hair."

Meg gave her long, black hair a flip, reveling in it finally being down out of a bun for a change.

"Jammes doesn't think anything looks good with her hair," Christine rolled her eyes.

Meg nodded.

"I told her to just wear a wig if she's so particular about it, and she got mad at me, can you imagine? I was just trying to help!"

Christine managed a giggle in spite of herself. She loved her friend for her attempts at distraction, but she didn't think anything could ever set her mind at ease until this whole ordeal was over.

Still, she tried to lose herself in Meg's gossip about the other ballet girls, until suddenly the locked doorknob rattled, shattering the stillness and making both girls jump. Antoinette stood quickly from behind her desk, reaching underneath for the weapon she stored there.

In the midst of her fear, Christine marveled at Antoinette. When something happened that caused most other people to flinch backwards, Antoinette was lurching forwards, courageously putting herself in between danger and its target so that she could put an end to it, without any thought for herself. Christine longed to be that brave one day.

The noise of the knob rattling was replace with the sound of a key turning.

Erik opened the door and was greeted with the sight of Christine clinging to Meg on the couch and Antoinette posed in such a stance that he knew she was holding a small pistol under the desk.

He paused, glancing at each face, before entering the office and quickly locking the door behind him once again.

"I take you all had a more interesting afternoon than I did."

Antoinette had slumped against the desk as soon as she realized it was him, but quickly produced the letter regarding Christine and showed it to Erik. His expression turned dark as he read it.

"This was delivered to the manager's office when I was there this morning," she told him.

"The same handwriting, is it not," he murmured.

"Yes. I want Christine under constant supervision until this perpetrator is found."

Erik nodded his agreement.

"I need you to stay here and keep an eye on her while I go see the Comte," she continued before turning to a dress Christine. "When I get back Meg and I will escort you to your apartment, where we'll help you pack everything you'll need. You'll be staying with us until we get this all sorted out."

Christine nodded mutely. Her mind was still reeling. Just this morning everything had been going about in a fairly normal manner, and suddenly everything was turned upside down and she felt like she was on the run.

With that Antoinette left to question Philippe. Erik turned to the girls on the couch, pulling his notes out of his pocket and settling himself behind the desk where Antoinette had been moments earlier.

"What can you tell me about these people from the Opera?"

He read each name off of the list, pausing to hear their opinions before moving on to the next.

"La Sorelli at a restaurant?" Meg scoffed. "She actually eats?"

"La Sorelli is too sweet to be involved with anything like this," Christine shook her head.

"Isabell and Peter are too busy planning their elopement to have time for kidnapping," Meg said decisively.

"What?" Christine looked confused.

"Oh," Meg clapped a hand over her mouth. "That was supposed to be a secret... Jospeh Boquet? He's drunk off his ass most of the time and I doubt he has enough brain cells left to plan a dinner let alone something like this."

"Meg!"

"Are you denying it, Christine?" Meg sniffed. "You know it's true."

"It's true, but you shouldn't _say it_!"

"And Katrina is a horrid old busybody, in everyone's business. She's so petty, but she couldn't keep a secret if her life depended on it, so it definitely isn't her."

Erik raised an eyebrow at the description that Meg delivered without a hint of self awareness.

"None of them would have reason to extort the Comte?" Erik asked.

"No, no reason I can think of," Christine bit her lip.

She didn't think there was a reason, but as of a hour ago she wasn't so certain of anything anymore.

Erik thanked them for their help and focused on clarifying his notes for when Antoinette got back.

Christine felt too shy to continue to gossip with Erik in the room, grabbing a pillow off the couch and hugging it to herself as though to add another layer of protection against his gaze even though he wasn't looking at her. Meg flipped through a magazine, pointing out pictures and articles to Christine, until finally they reached the end of it and she tossed it back on the table in a huff.

"Can Christine and I go get a soda from the corner store?" she asked presently.

"No," Erik didn't bother to look up.

"We can be back in five minutes."

"No."

"What if you went with us?" Meg tried hopefully.

Erik paused, finally looking up.

"Definitely not, then."

Meg dramatically threw her arm over her face and leaned back on the couch, Christine burying her face in the cushion to keep from laughing.

"_Erik_," Meg whined. "We are _bored_."

Without a word Erik reached into a desk drawer, pulled out a deck of cards in a small box, and threw them at her. They bounced off of her shoulder and she gave a small yelp. She picked them up with a loud sigh and a pointedly doleful look at Erik - which he entirely ignored.

Meg gave up her hopes of going out and began setting up for a card game with Christine. They played for what seemed an eternity to Christine, and she began to wonder if this was what her life was going to be like for the foreseeable future.

"Meg," she whispered. "If I have to play one more game of rummy, I am going to lose my mind and scream."

Meg snickered.

At that moment Antoinette returned and saved them from the deck of cards. The rattle of the key startled the girls once again, while Erik merely looked up attentively and made an odd motion with his wrist.

Antoinette stormed in, a scowl on her face.

"It's only me, Erik, put your lasso away," she sighed.

Christine tried to get a better look at the arm he had moved when he heard the door opening. Did he have some kind of weapon up his sleeve?

"How did it go?" he chuckled.

"Damn that Comte," Antoinette muttered. "He was so uncooperative, he flat out refused to answer certain questions, and he insinuated that this was a situation better left to the _men_."

Erik steepled his fingers and watched his partner fume as she paced the room.

"Shall I rough him up for you?" he offered.

She gave him a small glare.

"It wouldn't have to be very bad, just a little, you know," he continued. "I could go at night, wear a different mask, he wouldn't even know it was me."

Antoinette rubbed at her temples, sighing.

"As tempting as that sounds, I believe your standard verbal lashing will work just as well," she dropped her notebook on the desk. "Read over what I managed to get and prepare accordingly. I'll watch Christine the rest of the day and tomorrow while you're at the Comte's, then you'll have her the next three days."

_You'll have her the next three days._

"W-what?" Erik stuttered.

Antoinette continued on as though she hadn't heard.

"I'll take her over the weekend, and on Wednesday, and you'll watch her the rest of the time."

"_What_?"

"What?"

"Antoinette..." his tone bordered on whining. "Why am _I_ watching her the majority of the time?"

Antoinette raised an eyebrow.

"I'm sorry, Erik, did you have other plans?"

Erik looked at Christine with an air of dismay.

Christine was hugging the pillow tightly again, blinking hard. She felt like a child once more, having to be foisted onto someone who didn't want to have to care for her but had no choice. Mamma Valerius had been good to her, but there had been several families she had had to stay with after her papa died and before living with Mamma that had been less than enthusiastic about having to care for her.

All Erik could see, however, was a young woman who clearly didn't like hearing who she was going to be spending the majority of her time with.

Christine glanced up at him, inwardly wincing at how he was looking at her with such disappointment, such disapproval. He didn't want her around him, and it brought back feelings and memories she'd rather forget.

"Please, Madame - can't I stay with you the whole time?" she pleaded.

"Erik, you've always done all of the surveillance in the past, I don't see why this is any different. Christine, dear, you'll be staying with me every night and three days a week, I wish I could accommodate your wishes more, but I do have one more case I'm currently working and I can't always have you there for that. Erik will be able to accompany you to your work, and you can spend your days off with me."

She paused and glanced at both disappointed faces.

"And the quicker we all get used to this arrangement, the quicker we can find this scoundrel and no one will have to watch anyone anymore. Now, is that settled?"

Christine nodded and Erik slouched down in his seat, resigned to his fate.

"Good. Christine, are you ready to go to your apartment?"

Christine's mind was still reeling on the walk to her apartment, a vague fear that someone might jump out from around the corner and attempt to spirit her off to some place no one would ever find her again. Antoinette and Meg on either side of her did little to calm that fear. She half wanted to insist that the Opera simply pay the requested sum in the letter so that she wouldn't have to worry anymore, but that amount of money would bankrupt them. Pay the bankrupting fee, or have their new star taken from them. Neither would happen if Antoinette had any say in it, but as the Opera certainly would not be paying, Christine was wary of the other options.

As she attempted to sort through her belongings to find what she could not live without, her mind tried to get used to what her life was about to become. She had to admit that from a purely scientific viewpoint, Erik would make a better security guard than Madame Giry - it was merely a given that someone that tall would also be stronger as well, although she knew from past experience that Madame could most definitely knock a man out cold. Still, she didn't relish the thought of spending so much time with him. He was so awkward to be around. She had such trouble reading his mood because she couldn't see his face, and she was afraid that any glance not directed at his eyes would make him think she was _staring_ at the mask, but any eye contact that lingered then felt like she was staring at his unusual eyes and then she'd have to look away, flustered - only for that to give the impression that there was something about him that made her not want to look at him.

She sighed wearily just thinking about it.

She hadn't even given a thought to how work would go. She had a show coming up, a small show featuring a few singers performing some solos, and she had been added to the lineup after her excellent run during Faust. Would he have to be there for that? Would he have to stand on stage with her? She would feel ridiculous doing that. Just how close an eye did he need to keep on her? Would he- would he have to be in her dressing room with her? A blush rose up on her cheeks thinking about it.

"Why are you making that face?" Meg asked as she helped her pack her toothbrush and floss.

Christine rolled her eyes.

"I was just thinking... I'm not used to spending so much time around a man in such close quarters, especially one I barely know. It just feels... awkward, doesn't it?" she lowered her voice. "I'm so glad your mother is letting me stay at your place - I simply can't imagine having to stay overnight with _him_."

Meg smothered a wicked smirk and asked in her most innocent tone, "Oh, because he lives at the office?"

Christine gave her a knowing glare as they made their way to the small living room.

"You know what I mean, Meg. I can't picture having to spend the night with a- a _man_. It just feels... _improper_, even if it isn't like that at all. I know it's probably silly of me, but I can't help how I feel," she gave a small shrug.

Meg snickered and put an arm around Christine's shoulders.

"I don't think you're silly. But you don't have to fret over it because you're staying with us. Besides, Erik isn't even attracted to girls."

"Oh, like Raoul?"

Meg shook her head.

"No, he doesn't like boys, either. He just doesn't like anyone, not in that way."

Antoinette caught part of the conversation for the first time.

"Meg!" she admonished her daughter. "That's terribly rude - you shouldn't tell that sort of information about someone unless you explicitly know they're okay with you telling other people."

"I know, Maman, but it's not as if he's keeping it a secret - I'm sure he'd tell if he was asked, and I know Christine won't think anything bad of it..." she glanced sheepishly at her friend. "And I know she's good at keeping secrets, better than I am, at least..."

Antoinette sighed.

"Valid points, but please try to limit who you broadcast personal information to in the future."

"Of course, Maman. I will use the utmost discretion, you have my word."

Christine disguised her laugh as a cough - she could never keep a straight face when Meg's eye sparkled like that.

"Go pack some dresses for Christine, Meg," she handed her a suitcase for the chosen dresses and waited till Meg was out of the room before turning and addressing Christine.

Her mind lingered on Erik's previous words about Christine being afraid of him, on how she had asked to not have him as her guard, and now on the snippet of conversation she had overheard.

"Christine, dear," her voice was soft. "If you truly do not wish to have to be around him, I can work something out. I do not wish for you to be uncomfortable - would you prefer I make other arrangements for you, ones that don't include Erik?"

Christine hesitated. She knew Giry would go to the ends of the earth to accommodate her wishes if she so asked. She also knew that it would be rather a burden on Giry, likely taking away from other case she was investigating, or even a burden on herself - if Giry couldn't take enough time off for Christine's rehearsals and shows, then Christine would have to drop out of the show. Erik wouldn't be terribly pleased with having to watch her, and he would probably also consider having to do so a burden... And it was selfish of her, she knew, but if there had to be a burden - let it be on Erik. She would not drop out of her show and she would not delay the missing child from the other case being brought back home safely because of her own awkward feelings.

"No, it's alright. I think you were right before - it'll go quicker this way. I don't mind, really."

"If you ever change your mind, please do not hesitate to tell me. But I think you'll be quite safe with Erik - I trust him with life, and he's never let me down yet. I know he be a little... much, at times, but he's fiercely loyal, and can be quite funny. He's warm, too, in his own way. It just takes him a while to feel comfortable around new people and open up. He's had a very difficult past, you know, people have treated him very poorly because of-"

Antoinette threw up her hands and huffed.

"Well, and right after I reprimanded Meg, here I am doing the same thing. I wonder where she gets it from."

Giry smiled wryly and shook her head.

"We can fix this, my dear - we will simply pretend that none of these conversations ever took place. What Erik doesn't know won't hurt him... _hopefully_."

This drew a small chuckle from Christine, who was picking nervously at the hem of her sleeve and thinking back on how she had treated him at their first meeting. Surely begging to not be around him mere hours ago hadn't made the situation between them any better, but she consoled herself by remembering that he had been the first to complain about having to watch her.

Once everything was packed and transported to the Girys' small house, Christine spent the rest of the afternoon unpacking what she could. She helped Antoinette cook dinner, and insisted on washing the dishes afterwards, saying it was the least she could do to repay her kindness.

That evening she and Meg stayed awake far too late, whispering and giggling and feeling like they fifteen again and bunking in the Opera House together. Christine lay on the thin mattress of the trundle bed and stared up at the shiny foil stars pasted on the ceiling and listened to Meg talk about the choreography she was working on. For the first time that day since hearing about the letter, she felt safe, and her heart felt full at knowing how much her friends cared for her even after all this time. In that moment it was easy to believe that Raoul would be back with them soon, safe at last.


	6. Chapter 6

Erik took in the lavish estate of the Comte as he walked up to the front door. It was one of those places that he'd be quick to dismiss as needlessly gaudy, far too overdone - but if given the chance to own such a place, secretly he'd accept in a heartbeat. He rang the doorbell and waited. A servant opened the door and began to greet him, but the greeting died on her tongue and her face turned pale.

"The Comte is expecting me, would you please tell him that the investigator is here?" Erik asked in his most honeyed tone, hoping to set her at ease.

She gave a small nod and wordlessly closed the door a little harder than necessary.

He wondered if Antoinette had been invited in to wait while Philippe was notified, but he stifled any thought of jealousy. Even if she had been treated to a more polite greeting, that was where the politeness had ended, from what she had told him.

The door opened again to reveal the face of the Comte peeking around the corner with much suspicion.

"Philippe, I presume?"

The Comte opened the door wider.

"Ah, yes, you must be that Erik fellow. Come in, come in," he ushered him into the house, leading him to a parlor. Erik took a sweeping glance at what he could see of the house before he entered the parlor and sat on the chair Philippe gestured to. Gaudy and overdone, indeed. Erik was already mentally redecorating it all.

"I must say, I'm glad to finally have you here. I was wondering when the investigator would should up," Philippe began.

Erik tilted his head in mock confusion.

"I was under the impression that you had already spoken with an investigator. Is this not the case, Monsieur?"

"Ah, well, you see, I meant a _real_ investigator... A woman did come by earlier, but-" he gave a little shrug.

Erik paused as though he didn't understand, letting the silence go on for just a tad too long to be comfortable.

"But that was my boss, Monsieur?"

Philippe squirmed and Erik felt a smug satisfaction at his obvious discomfort.

"Well, yes, she said she was an investigator, but... You know how women are," he chuckled a little, giving a wave of his hand as though he and Erik had some inside joke that they both shared.

Erik, however, was having none of it. He squinted his eyes and tilted his head the other direction, projecting confusion.

"I'm afraid I don't follow. Women are... How, exactly?"

Philippe's face fell and in place of answering he simply got up and poured himself a brandy.

"Say, aren't you here to discuss Raoul, anyway? Why don't we get to that?"

"Of course, Monsieur."

"Brandy?"

"No, thank you."

"What kind of a man doesn't like brandy?" Philippe glanced behind him, as though Erik were some odd insect pinned to a board.

Erik stiffened slightly.

"I prefer to not drink while I'm working."

Philippe snickered.

"You lack the constitution to be able to keep your head about you after just one drink, Monsieur? A pity, truly."

"Headaches. Alcohol triggers some terrible headaches for me," he gestured with a finger to his head.

It was only half of the reason, but it was still true. Philippe didn't need to know that he'd sworn off anything he could become addicted to ages ago after the fierce struggle of abandoning the terrible vice he'd picked up in Persia. No one need to know _that_.

"Strange," Philippe replied in tone that was vague about what exactly he thought was strange - the headaches or Erik himself.

Erik tried to push it from his mind, knowing that Philippe was trying to get under his skin about it because he had pressed the matter regarding Antoinette.

"Where were you on the night Raoul disappeared?"

Philippe choked on his brandy.

"Good heavens man - are you accusing me?"

"It was merely a question."

"I was here all evening, any of my servants can back me up on that," he sniffed.

"Can you think of anyone who want to harm your brother?"

A wince and an attempt to hide it behind his glass of brandy.

"I can't imagine that they would want to harm him."

"They?"

He glanced up to meet Erik's gaze.

"Anyone. Raoul is- he's a good boy. He's not the type to make enemies, you understand."

Erik wondered how many enemies Philippe had.

"Does Raoul owe any money to anyone?"

"Who wouldn't he owe money to, now that he's sunk it all into that damn Opera House?" he huffed and downed the rest of his brandy in one go.

"So he owes money, then? To whom?"

Philippe got up and made to pour himself another drink.

"No, no, Raoul doesn't owe anyone in particular, as far as I'm aware..."

He fiddled with a few papers that were in a wooden box near the bottle of brandy before continuing.

"It's just that if he did, you see, he wouldn't have very much to pay anyone, not now."

Erik tried to glance at the papers Philippe was lingering over. The Conte seemed about to say something, his brow furrowing and his eyes sad. Then he seemed to think the better of it, snapping the lid closed on the box and thwarting Erik's attempts to see what was written on the papers.

"Do you owe anyone, Comte?"

All traces of that soft sadness disappeared, anger taking its place.

"Do I look like a man who would skip out on his responsibilities, one who would foolishly spend a sum that I didn't have?"

Erik noticed the pointed lack of an answer.

"I believe you're taking my questions in a way that I'm not intending, Comte. I'm not here to judge your personal affairs, I merely want to help you get your brother back safely. Any answer you can give me brings us one step closer to bringing Raoul home."

Philippe nodded unhappily.

"How are you acquainted with Christine Daae?"

Philippe looked surprised.

"The little opera singer? Why, we've known her for ages. We go way back, you know," he waved his hand vaguely. "She and Raoul were childhood sweethearts, practically inseparable, those two."

Erik felt a prickle of emotion at this, though really it was nothing he hadn't already known, was it? But it was still a surprise to hear it out loud, to know that their relationship went so far back.

"Obviously Raoul knows her better than I do, but she's like one of the family... Why uh, why do you ask?"

Erik noticed the Comte's reactions were getting a little slower.

"Mademoiselle Daae has been the next target of who we believe is the same person holding Raoul."

Philippe wiped his hand over his face, despair and regret written obviously across his countenance.

"Christine too? I don't- what would they want with her? She doesn't have any money, not really..."

"They want a ransom from the Opera House."

His expression soured.

"Oh, it figures," he grumbled.

Erik felt certain that Philippe knew more than he was telling. The only trouble now was how to get him to spill his secrets.

Philippe sighed and placed his empty glass on the table, gazing longingly at it.

"Poor girl, she doesn't deserve this, what a cruel fate to draw her in to something she wasn't involved with... A mere matter of circumstance, it seems."

Erik cleared his throat.

"Perhaps, Comte, I ah- I would like that brandy after all, of you don't mind too terribly."

"Yes, yes, of course," he stood to get him a glass.

Erik paused when Philippe handed it to him.

"Oh, come now, Comte - you aren't going to let me drink alone now, are you?"

Philippe hesitated.

"No, I- I suppose not," he refilled his own glass.

Erik brought the glass to his lips, tipping it back just enough to give the appearance of drinking without any of the liquid inside touching his lips.

Philippe wasn't even paying attention to whether or not Erik was taking actual sips of the drink, however. He took a swig of his own.

"I noticed you have a very lovely garden in front, Comte. Horticulture is a noble pursuit," Erik stalled.

"Ah, yes, thank you - it's a bit of a hobby of mine," the man preened.

"Are you a man of many hobbies?" Erik drawled, taking another fake drink.

"Why yes, actually. I'm quite the equestrian, as well. I like a good swim on a sunny day - we have a pool out back. And of course I've never been one to turn down a good game of cards," he chuckled.

"Does your brother share those hobbies too?"

He shook his head, standing with only a slight sway to refill his glass.

"Raoul's only hobby is that damn Opera House," he sighed. "He always loved music ever since he was a child, but the poor fellow can't hold a tune to save his life, so he prefers to listen and watch instead."

Erik took the opportunity to discreetly dump his brandy into the small potted plant on the table when Philippe's back was turned, handing him the empty glass when he turned back to him.

"Did he fund the Opera House because of Christine?" Erik finally asked.

He told himself that his interest in the answer was strictly professional, but that wasn't the first lie Erik had ever told himself. He simply couldn't pass up the chance to learn more about those two.

"He did. He'd always talked of doing such a thing when they were younger - buying his love an Opera House so that she could sing anything she ever wanted," he snorted.

He sat heavy in his chair, the extra brandy clearly showing its effects.

"Christine... She doesn't deserve this, you know... She's- she's a good girl," Philippe looked emotional again, his words starting to slur. "I- I never intended for it to go this far..."

Erik hung on his every word, waiting for him to continue. It seemed, instead, that Philippe was on the verge of dozing off.

"What did you intend, Philippe?" he asked softly.

"I'll put a stop to it, I'll find a way," he muttered. "She has such a pure heart, you know... She always has. No, this isn't her burden to shoulder... She'll... She'll be alright. I'll fix it."

"Fix what, Philippe?"

A snore.

"Philippe?" Erik reached over and shook his arm.

Philippe merely leaned to the side in his chair, out cold.

Erik huffed. Perhaps he had overdone it with the brandy - but it certainly had loosened the man's tongue.

Erik was about to look in the wooden box when the door opened and a servant appeared and insistently escorted him to the front door. Erik briefly wondered if the servant had been listening to his and the Comte's conversation to know when to enter the room. Perhaps the Comte often drank just a little too much.

He returned to the office and pulled out the typewriter, wanting to get the entire conversation transcribed from his messy notes into something Antoinette could actually read.

He cursed the Comte as he typed. That utter fool. What was he playing at, holding things back from the very people who could be helping him? Why even get investigators involved if he was only going to hide things from them? Did he not want his brother back?

He finished transcribing the notes and set about typing his theories and observations, creating a list of questions he wanted to follow up with. The Comte certainly hadn't seen the last of Erik or Antoinette.

He realized he needed to question Christine next, but she had dress rehearsal the next day and a show after that... He was hesitant to press her for information when she was otherwise distracted - perhaps she wouldn't quite remember her conversation with Philippe if she was busy trying to prepare for her show, and he wanted to hear her sing the best she could - and she couldn't do that if he was pestering her with questions. Maybe it was selfish of him to feel that way, but he rationalized it to himself by saying that if the man's own brother didn't even care to help find him, then the little Vicomte could surely wait another day or so for Christine to finish her show.

Her show. He took off his mask and rubbed at his eyes. He was looking forward to hearing her sing, of course, but he only wished it were under different circumstances.

Erik woke the next day with a vague sense of dread. It would be the first of his days with Christine in his care. As much as he wanted to linger in bed, putting off the inevitable, he knew that she had to be at the opera before a certain time and he didn't wish to make her late.

He arrived promptly at Antoinette's house and the door opened immediately after he rang the doorbell. There stood Christine, her large purse over her shoulder, her face set stoically in grim determination. He thought she looked more reminiscent of a woman going to meet her executioner than of a diva readying herself for a rehearsal - but perhaps with him in tow the former was more fitting after all.

She stepped out silently and quickly locked the door before sighing as she began the trek to her workplace.

Erik was silent. He felt he should have greeted her, at least, but she had opened the door so suddenly that it surprised him and then after that it seemed too late to say a greeting - and now he didn't know what to say at all. Should he mention he went to see all of her performances? No, that felt like something a stalker would say.

Christine tied her best to glance over at him without being conspicuous. It was a difficult feat, with the height difference and how close he was. She could only manage a view of his shoulder at most - not that his face was likely to give away any clue as to his mood, anyway. The utter quiet was making her anxious. She needed to say something - anything - just something inoffensive and a good conversation starter.

"Isn't this such lovely weather we've been having? Not a cloud in sight, just beautiful sunshine," she tried.

"I hate sunshine."

"Oh," she hung her head.

_Drat_. Well, how was she supposed to reply to that? So much for conversation.

Erik quietly cursed himself when he saw her wilt under his response. He hated that his normal eloquence seemed to abandon him whenever she was involved.

"I prefer the clouds, as sunlight makes my eyes sting, but I am sure this is lovely weather for most other people," added after a pause.

She nodded, then tried again.

"Have you ever been to the Opera?"

He took so long to reply that she almost thought he wouldn't.

"I have."

Something about the way he said it made it seem uninviting for follow up questions. She thought perhaps he would add something else to those two words, but apparently that was all he wanted to say on the topic.

She was thankful that they were almost to their destination. They went the rest of the way without speaking.

Erik paused outside of Christine's dressing room, glancing inside to make sure there was no one there waiting to ambush her.

"There is no other way in or out, yes?" he asked.

"_Well_..." she wrung her hands. "I don't know for certain, but - I think there's a sort of exit behind the mirror."

She gestured to the full length mirror on the wall.

"What do you mean?"

"Come here, I'll show you."

She went up the very edge of it, Erik hesitating a moment longer before finally stepping over the threshold. It felt too close, to personal, to be there in that small room with her - a room that should have been hers alone, unsullied by his presence.

"There's a latch right here, and when you press it-"

She depressed the latch and the glass of the mirror noiselessly rolled back to reveal a hidden chamber that appeared to lead into a dark tunnel.


	7. Chapter 7

Erik's face fell. He cautiously stepped into the chamber, trying to peer into the darkness and ascertain just how back this tunnel went. He couldn't see the end of it. Who knows how far it went, or what it led to - or who was hiding inside. He stepped back into the dressing room, his posture defeated.

"I am so sorry, Mademoiselle Daae, but I feel I would be remiss to allow you be in this room alone. This tunnel isn't safe, and by the time you screamed to alert me to the presence of an intruder, it would be too late," he told her gravely.

Christine's expression wavered, a small smile marked with confusion as she tried to tell if he was joking with her - was this the sense of humor that Madame Giry had told her about?

"Surely you're joking...?"

He looked at her regretfully, and her smile disappeared completely.

"You don't truly think someone is going to come through my dressing room mirror and abduct me, do you? That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard!"

"I assure you that being here in this room is far from my first choice. If you truly feel there's no danger behind there, I will - against my better judgment - step outside as you wish. The choice is yours."

Christine stared down the tunnel. It _was_ terribly dark... Her lip trembled. She slid the glass back to its original place.

"Very well then, I suppose," she told him with a confidence that belied her conflicted mind.

Erik turned to face the wall, his eyes trained directly in front of him.

"I _am_ sorry, you know," he muttered.

Christine had never been more grateful for the folding partition in this room. She gathered the pieces of her costume and stood behind the partition to dress. Halfway through dressing curiosity got the better of her and she dared to peek around the corner - just a bit, just her face, though it wouldn't have mattered because she already had her dress completely on by then. Erik hadn't budged an inch, still staring at the faded floral wallpaper. Even if he had tried to glance behind him, she knew he wouldn't have been able see around the partition due to its height and width, but she was terribly curious anyway. She thought back to Meg's words about how he didn't like women in _that_ way, and then wondered why on earth _Meg_ of all people would know something like that about him.

She finished dressing quickly, stepping back out around the partition and settling herself in front of the vanity table. She began combing and pinning her hair up in a rolled style, glancing in the mirror over at Erik.

She stopped fussing over her hair and turned to face him. He was still facing the wall. She cleared her throat.

"You can turn around now."

He turned around, eyes now studying the carpet. She briefly wondered if perhaps he would have stood there facing away from her the entire time if she hadn't said anything.

"You can sit on the divan, if you like," she waved a hand towards the small couch. "My makeup always takes a while to finish."

He sat down awkwardly, the divan a little too low to the ground to be entirely comfortable for someone with such long legs.

He tried his very best not to stare at her as she primped and painted, but she was correct that it was taking a very long time and there was so very little else to look at in the room - one could only gaze at the vase of wilted roses on her table for so long before being tempted to watch her clever fingers twist and pin those flaxen tresses into woven curls and spirals.

Erik pondered this strange twist of fate that now had him sitting in her dressing room as though he were one of the patrons who payed extra for the ability to take such liberties with the performers, when not even a week ago he couldn't find the courage to even knock on her door.

Christine slid the tube of lipstick over her lips, turning them blood red in its wake. Her eyes flicked up to Erik's face in the mirror, that odd gaze of his intently following the motion of the lipstick, only for their eyes to meet when she paused. He quickly looked away, embarrassed, and she felt a blush creeping over her own cheeks as she smiled.

Finally she stood in front of the mirror, makeup and hair complete. She lingered, even though she knew she had no real reason to. It was silly, _she_ was silly, but she was just slightly nervous about who would see them leaving her dressing room together. People _talked_ around here, and she preferred to not be the subject of that talk if she could help it.

No one saw as they left her dressing room, but the pair did draw some glances as they approached backstage. Jospeh Buquet openly stared, looking Erik up and down nervously, eyes darting from his tall form to Christine and back again. Several stagehands whispered to each other, their eyes gone wide. Erik pointedly ignored all of this in a manner that Christine could only assume came from decades of practice, and she felt a pang of sympathy for him if this was how he was treated by most people for his entire life.

She managed a warm smile at Erik when he finally looked at her, but his eyes continued to rove the stage, looking at her as though she were merely another prop or piece of scenery, his mouth impassive. She raised her eyebrows and felt a surprising pout settle over her which she couldn't quite explain - she had been smiling for _his_ benefit, not her own, so if he did not appreciate it that was his problem, not hers, yet all the same the emotion remained like a bothersome dark cloud on an otherwise sunny day.

A few other performers openly stared and whispered, and Christine made a mental note to ask Meg what exactly was being said about her. Meg could always be counted on for three things - a heartfelt hug when days weren't going well, to have an extra snack in her dance bag, and her uncanny ability to keep on top of every strand of gossip related to anyone who worked at the Opera House. Meg would _know_.

The director, however, had been informed in advance about the situation with Christine, and merely gave a small nod to Erik when he noticed him.

As her turn on the stage drew nearer, she pushed all thoughts of gossip and potential kidnappers from her mind, trying to focus solely on what she would be singing. She rocked from her heels to her toes, clenching and unclenching her hands. Her thoughts turned only to the words of the aria she was about perform, no longer noticing anyone else, not even the odd presence of Erik right behind her that she still wasn't used to yet.

Erik himself was not unaffected by the buzz backstage. He was trying to keep his own thoughts at bay, thoughts of what it would be like to be up here every week, to feel the glare of those lights and to hear his voice echo off the walls and soar up to the vaulted ceiling night after night. Would it feel different than all those nights when people would gather around to gawk at his death's face as a child? It would have to. They would be drawn here by only his voice, by something pure, not by something nightmarish and grotesque. But he would never get a chance to know what that felt like. This was the closest he'd ever come to actually being on stage.

He glanced down at Christine. The poor girl looked terribly nervous. She was practically hyperventilating, her body shaking. He frowned. This was only a dress rehearsal - how much more anxious did she get during an actual show? He hadn't noticed any hint of nerves when she had played Marguerite. Perhaps the threats looming over her were getting to her. He longed to be able to reach a hand out on place it on her shoulder, to tell her it would be okay, to remind her to breathe deeply and slowly, but it felt too familiar of a gesture. He wasn't here to help her with her singing career, he wasn't even here for moral support - he was solely here to make sure no one grabbed her and ran off with her, and he would do well to not forget his place.

It was her cue to enter the stage, and as she stepped out from the wings a stillness settled over her. Erik stepped closer but stayed out of view of where the audience would be. Her music began, and after two measures of intro she began her aria.

It was as though she were suddenly a different person entirely. She didn't shake or falter, she didn't shift on her feet or tense her hands.

Erik sucked in a breath. How much stronger her voice was when he was this close. This was nothing like when he was sitting in the back of theater watching Faust and trying to hide. It was like being transported to another world. That golden voice curled around him and seeped into his very soul, teasing his mind with images. Never had he wished so fervently to be able to be on stage himself, for the sole reason of being blessed with the opportunity to sing in duet with her. She could be Juliet, and he would be Romeo, or perhaps he will be Tristan and she will be Isolde, two lovers united through the passion of their music - or they could even be someone new, he could write entire operas to showcase their voices together, operas that would bring all of Paris to its knees at the sight of such beauty and heavenly light-

In those few moments it didn't even matter that such a thing could never be. He knew that the aria was about to end and take with it those shining fantasies, and they would be once again simply Christine and Erik, a young woman who was uncomfortable around the masked guard that fate decreed she be saddled with.

He closed his eyes and held on to those last notes, those last pieces of artificial hope before he let them slip away and fade with the echo of her voice.

She lingered a moment on stage before gracefully walking back to the wings. Once out of sight behind the curtains, she shook her arms out wildly and jumped up and down a few times as though to work out the rest of the adrenaline in her system, and then practically ran down the steps and towards the empty auditorium. She glanced back at Erik, who was quite confused but managed to keep only a few feet between them.

"I want to see the others sing!" she said, smiling.

He followed her to the front row and took a seat next to her. He belatedly realized he probably should have left an empty seat between them - it felt strange to sit so close with their elbows practically touching when the entire theater was nearly empty, but it would be even stranger to get up and put space between them once they were already seated. He had been told by several people in the past that he had a tendency to make those shorter than him - which was very nearly everyone - feel crowded because he'd stand too close, unable to judge the distance from the perspective of the shorter person. It was nothing he did on purpose - _generally_ not, anyway - so he tried to be aware of how much space he might need to leave around him. He assumed he had gotten better at it over the years, but Christine was so terribly short and he hated the thought of making her uncomfortable just by being next to her.

If she was uncomfortable, she gave no outward sign. She gazed up at the stage, her face full of wonder as she listened to the other performers, a big smile of joy on her face when she enthusiastically clapped for each one when they were done.

"I don't get to see them perform on the day of the shows, so dress rehearsals are the only times I can watch them," she whispered to him as one of the performers left the stage.

Erik nodded. He very nearly told her that her own performance was beautiful, that she was very talented, or any number of other compliments, but he hesitated just a moment too long and by then the next singer was beginning and her attention was solely on the stage.

This singer was talented as well, able to deviate from the prescribed notes and improvise and embellish, but there was something about her that Erik found off putting that he couldn't quite name. It wasn't until he song was finished that he realized what it was. Christine clapped as she had for each singer, but where the others had given a little bow or wave in acknowledgment, this woman paused and looked directly at Christine with an expression that could only be described as a sneer. The woman scoffed and shook her head and stalked off stage.

"Who was that?" Erik asked in a hushed tone.

"La Carlotta," she replied softly.

"She doesn't like you," he was slouched down in his chair so their faces were level with each other, and he glanced over at her.

Christine gave a small smile.

"I know."

"So why did you clap for her?"

"Just because she doesn't like me, that doesn't mean I have to dislike her," she shrugged.

Erik was silent at this, and the arrival of the next singer saved him having to reply.

La Carlotta was arrogant and haughty where Christine was sweet and kind, and he was almost certain that this came across in their singing as well. He glanced at her again, studying her features. She was entirely engrossed in the next performance, not noticing that he was watching her instead of the stage. He wondered how many of the other performers she was actually friends with, and how many she was simply supporting because she thought it was a nice thing to do. She certainly hadn't been any less enthusiastic for La Carlotta, so he had no way of knowing which might be which.

Erik had always been suspicious of nice people. They were usually the ones plotting something, the ones who had reason to hide their true feelings until they got what they wanted, the ones who were too dishonest to display their distaste for others up front.

But Christine's niceness seemed different than that. It didn't seem to be masking anything underneath. It just... was. He wondered what it might be like to get to know someone like that, then he reminded himself that the ultimate goal was to spend as little time around her as possible - to find the missing Vicomte and find whoever was responsible for threatening her so that she didn't need someone watching her constantly. He would have to continue to wonder, he told himself wryly.

After the rehearsal was over they made their way back to the dressing rooms. They passed La Carlotta in the hallway where she was standing against the wall with several other people around her. She focused her glare on Christine, who in turn gave her a small smile. Carlotta crossed her arms and frowned, turning her attention then to Erik.

Perhaps niceness was simply Christine's nature. It certainly was not, however, Erik's nature, and he had no qualms about returning that icy stare. He thought he saw a flicker of fear go across her face for just one instant, and perhaps a hint of jealousy. She continued to stare as Christine entered her dressing room and held the door open for Erik.

"Who were those people she was with?" he asked as he turned to the wall once more.

"Her friends."

"Other singers?"

"Piangi is. There's also her personal assistant, and the other two are from who knows where else."

"Does she always travel with such an entourage?"

"Usually, yes."

"Does she have any reason to dislike the Vicomte? Or the Comte?"

Christine paused behind the partition.

"I- don't think so. Oh, you don't think she had something to do with all this, do you?"

"I think she very clearly doesn't like you."

Christine finished changing and came around to the vanity table, pulling the pins out of her hair and taking off her jewelry.

"I don't think it was her," she fretted.

"You don't think so, or you don't want to think so?"

Christine looked up at him, worry written across her features.

"She's just upset because I did so well when I took over her role while she was sick," she shook her head.

"And you feel such revenge is beneath her?"

"Well- she might have _written_ such a letter, but I don't think- I'd like to think that she didn't actually have Raoul kidnapped... Do you really think it was her?"

Christine sounded scared and sad, and Erik briefly regretted being so adamant about it.

"I am not certain, but I would be careful around her," he said gently. "The first letter didn't mention you at all, which makes me think it wasn't related to her bruised ego, but then again, what better way to get back at you than by spiriting away your boy?"

"Oh, Erik..."

Christine had to admit, it did make sense in a way.

"It would also explain why you were targeted in the second letter- you will forgive my saying so, but you have been merely an understudy," he hesitated. "But perhaps you were targeted _because_ of that reason - if Carlotta always travels with an entourage as you say, then it would stand to reason that kidnapping _her_ would become exponentially more difficult."

Christine felt like her head was spinning at it all. She rubbed her hand over her eyes.

"I just want to go home, Erik," she sighed.

He nodded.

"Of course."

He would have to run his ideas by Antoinette and see what she thought of them. He decided not to say anything more of it to Christine, who he had already managed to overwhelm. He certainly couldn't ask her about the Comte now, he had already pushed too far for one night.

They walked back in the darkness in mostly silence. His mind was busy mulling over possibilities of who was responsible for what, and she was focused on what she needed to do to prepare for the show that was happening the next night.

He broke her from her thoughts.

"Do you always walk home alone?"

"Excuse me?"

His face flushed.

"I mean, do you always walk to and from work? At the same times each day, even in the dark?"

She thought about it.

"I suppose so."

"You shouldn't, especially not now."

She nodded, too tired to do much else.

As they finally approached Giry's house, he noticed that Antoinette was inside, standing by the little window, anticipating Christine's return. She opened the door before they even had to knock, and Christine entered without a word to either of them, heading straight for the stairs and up to the room she shared with Meg.

Erik watched her go and felt strangely awkward about the parting. She hadn't even said goodbye. He thought about that for a moment, and then he felt awkward for feeling awkward - what did it matter that she didn't say goodbye? They weren't friends. She was merely a client, and there was no need for anything beyond the bare minimum of what was required to do the job expected of him.

"Would you like to stay for dinner, Erik? We ate earlier, but we made enough for both of you for when you got back," Antoinette offered.

He hated to admit it, but he was rather hungry. And Antoinette was a very good cook. But the thought of having to sit at the same Christine while they ate... He couldn't do it.

"Thank you, Antoinette, but no. I'd rather just go back home, I think."

She nodded and studied his face. He seemed tired. Perhaps rest would do him good.

"You know you can stay here tonight if you prefer, if the walk back is too much for you."

"That- that will not be necessary."

He walked back to the office, hands deep in his pockets, the collar of his coat popped, hat tipped low. He was the only person walking down the street, surrounded by a crushing quiet punctuated only by his footsteps, and in that moment it didn't feel like a stretch to imagine that he was also the only person in the entire world. Darkness pressed in around the edges of the bright spots on the sidewalk left by the overeager street lamps, creating a mottled look across the ground - darkness, light, darkness, light.

He scolded himself for still lingering on the lack of any kind of parting words to Christine - it was only natural, he told himself, considering he hadn't said hello to her that morning. He had no one but himself to blame because _he_ was the one who had set the tone for their acquaintanceship. Perhaps if he hadn't flooded her with details of the process of trying to deduce who was threatening her she wouldn't have been so distracted and _then_ maybe she would have had the sense of mind to be polite to him.

He sighed. Perhaps if he hadn't snuck up behind her on that first day she had visited the office, she wouldn't be afraid of him and _then_ she would actually _want_ to be polite to him. No, that wasn't exactly right - perhaps if he didn't have the face of a monster and didn't require an ominous mask - perhaps if he wasn't so freakishly tall - perhaps-

He only had a few items sitting forlornly in the icebox in his bedroom, and staring at the leftover half of a sandwich and a banana which had certainly seen better days made him wish that he had stayed for dinner with Christine and the Girys after all. He grabbed the sandwich and wandered downstairs as he ate it, ending up in the basement as he took the last few bites.

He sat at the bench in front of the organ with a heavy sigh. His fingers were itching to compose again, but it wasn't like the flowing, airy compositions he had working on after seeing Christine in Faust. Instead, the music which poured from him now seemed only to compliment the stifling darkness outside, the oppressive summer heat which clung tenaciously even in the middle of the night as though you'd never be rid of it. Dirges leapt forth, nearly violent in their sadness. He couldn't say how long he played for that night, didn't even look at the clock when finally he felt there was nothing left in him, no more will to force his fingers into the keys. He simply stopped playing as suddenly as he had started, went upstairs, and fell into bed.

Christine couldn't fall asleep that night no matter how hard she tried. It had unnerved her that the culprit could be someone she had spent so many years around, that such viciousness and hate could be festering in someone she actually knew. She squirmed under her blanket, trying to find a position conducive to sleep. She tried to focus on the rhythmic huff of Meg breathing though her mouth as she slept, but it didn't help.

She rolled into her stomach, her arms under her pillow. Rehearsals had gone well. She had done her best, and everyone else had sounded lovely as well. She had been genuine when she had applauded them all. No one had clapped for her, though. She told herself that it was because she was earlier on in the show, that everyone was still too focused on their performances to give much heed to hers. Still - it would be nice, just occasionally, to hear _some_ form of encouragement from her fellow performers. She knew she'd been away for years, but she had practically grown up around these people! It's not like they were strangers...

She curled into her side, legs twisting around each other. Erik hadn't even said anything afterwards. Did he not think she was very good? She rolled her eyes at her own silliness. It's not like she wanted his _approval_ or anything, but he was seemingly a singer himself. A kind word coming from him would have meant a lot - because he was a singer, of course, that's why it would mean a lot...

But still, not a single word from him about it.

She sprawled on her back. No 'good job, Christine', or 'that was very lovely', or even 'your dress looks nice' - nothing. She scoffed. It's not like his opinion actually mattered... But _still_. It was nice to hear nice things.

Guilt gnawed at her. Raoul was out there somewhere suffering who knows what, and here she was pouting over not receiving a compliment from a man who strongly disliked her. Her poor, dear Raoul - when would she see him again? A tear slid down her cheek as she thought of him. She missed him so.

As the faintest sunlight began to filter through the window in the early hours of morning, her eyelids finally grew heavy and fluttered shut. It seemed only mere moments later that she was being unceremoniously smacked in the face with a pillow.

"Wake up, lazy bones!" a triumphant and far too awake Meg called out as she stood over Christine, pillow in hand. "You have a show today!"

Christine looked up at her with bleary eyes, resting the back of her hand on her forehead and rubbing away the sting left by the pillow.

"Oh, Meg," she sighed.


	8. Chapter 8

Erik opened his eyes in the morning and immediately panicked, thinking he'd gone blind. His hands fluttered up to his face only to find that he was not, in fact, blind - he had forgotten to take his mask off the previous night and it had slipped up across his eyes. He pulled it off and rubbed cold fingertips over the sore spots it had left in its wake before righting it over his face once more. It had been ages since he'd fallen asleep with his mask on, he realized.

He looked in the icebox for breakfast and sighed. He took the banana downstairs and settled into a chair to wait for Antoinette, who would be dropping Christine off.

It was only a few moments later that both came through the door. Antoinette set her purse down and began to go around the room, gathering what she'd need for her day of field work. She did a double take in Erik's direction, wrinkling her nose at the rather old banana he was in the process of peeling.

"Erik, that's disgusting," she stated.

"Nonsense, it's perfectly fine."

"Perfectly fi- how many days has it been since that banana was actually yellow, Erik?"

He shrugged and broke off a piece, putting it in his mouth.

Antoinette huffed.

"I suppose since you're eating old fruit it means you've finally run out of other food?"

"I have. I need to go grocery shopping today."

"Please promise me that you won't get more bananas. You always say you want to eat them, and then you let them molder away in the back of the icebox."

"And I still eat them, do I not?" he innocently placed another piece of overripe banana in his mouth.

She glared at him.

"Only because you know it bothers me."

Her voice was annoyed, but he could see the hint of mirth in her eyes. He was struggling to keep the smirk from his own face, too.

He glanced over at Christine, curious despite himself about her reaction to their banter. She was sitting on the couch, her gaze downcast as she played with the end of the long braid her hair was in. She either wasn't paying attention or didn't find it very amusing.

"We'll have plenty of time to go to the store before the show tonight," he said to no one in particular.

Antoinette finished filling her purse with her notebooks and various items and gave the room once last glance before turning towards the door.

"I'll leave you both to it, then. Good luck on your show tonight, dear," she gave Christine's arm a squeeze before she left.

The smile that briefly lit up Christine's face quickly faded when the door closed. Erik sat silent a moment, wiping his fingers on a napkin and tossing the banana peel into the bin by the desk.

"Are you ready to go to the store?" he asked.

She nodded but kept her eyes downcast, not looking at him. He unconsciously raised a hand to his face, and then ran it over his wig, making sure both were in place. He stifled a sigh and went for the door, Christine rising and following right behind.

Christine desperately tried to think of things she could say, ways to fill the empty void spanning between them, but each thing she could think of seemed to require extra thought to make certain it was the right thing to say and by the time she felt sure it would fine to say out loud, the moment had already passed. She settled for dumbly following him around the store, trying but not quite succeeding in finding a balance between curiously eyeing his purchases and not gawking at them.

It was an odd mixture of very simple boxes and canned foods and what she assumed were ingredients for a very involved meal that she was too shy to ask about.

He went to the produce section last, stopping in front of the display of oranges and reaching to the very back to pluck out two. Christine didn't give much thought to his reaching for ones in the back, she assumed that when one had arms that long it was only natural, after all. Perhaps she too would grab ones at the back if she were capable of reaching them. She didn't realize that the real reason was because he wanted ones that people hadn't put their grubby hands all over, and he was very glad that she made no comment on his choices - unlike the time he had gone shopping with Antoinette, and she had demanded to know what was wrong with the ones in the front, and then he had to explain that while he was aware that all of the fruit had been touched by whoever harvested it and also by the grocer who put them in the display, the ones that were touched and squeezed and heaven forbid _coughed on_ by all and sundry who were passing by were simply unacceptable to him, regardless of the fact that he didn't eat the peel anyway. Yes, he was quite glad to not have to repeat that explanation.

She paused by the green apples, admiring them.

"Is something wrong, Christine?" he hoped the stress wasn't causing her to crack - he'd never seen someone stare at an apple so wistfully.

"Have you ever had these?" she surprised them both with her question.

"Yes, I believe I have tried an apple before, maybe once or twice," he nodded solemnly.

"No, I mean the green ones."

He shrugged.

"Perhaps. An apple is an apple, it never made that much of an impression on me, I suppose."

"Oh, no, they aren't! Green ones are special! They taste so different than the red ones you find everywhere, and Raoul and I used to always take green apples with us when went on picnics..."

She trailed off, her smile beginning to fade a little.

"They were my favorite," she sighed at last.

"Were?"

"I haven't had one in ages. I suppose I'd still like them even now, but- well, I guess I can't claim they're still my favorite if I haven't even bothered to try one in all this time?"

Erik didn't know how to answer that question that didn't entirely seem to be about the apple. Christine turned to look at the different fruits offered, lost in her own thoughts, and probably mourning the Vicomte, he thought. She still wasn't looking when he reached back and took two of the green apples and put them in a bag before placing them in his shopping basket.

She did, however, notice the very last item he picked up before heading to the cashier to pay - a single banana.

Christine silently scolded herself on the walk back from the store. Why did she have to babble on about the apple? Erik didn't care about her little childhood picnics and odd stories. Did she truly want so desperately to have a conversation with him that she'd bring up such nonsense? Apparently so, she groaned inwardly.

When they reached the office he went upstairs without a word, putting his groceries away in the ice box - all expect for the single banana. He took that back downstairs with him.

"You have a few hours before your performance, what would you like to do?"

Christine considered his words.

"Could we go to the opera house early? If you don't mind, that is."

"Of course," he nodded.

She gathered her things up once again, but stopped to watch as he opened the top drawer on Antoinette's desk and placed the banana in the back of the drawer before closing it again. She stared at him, confused.

He straightened out his trench coat, keeping a completely straight face with his explanation.

"That'll make a nice surprise for her in about a week, don't you think?"

Her lips quirked in a smile before she looked away. She would have to do her best not to laugh now every time she saw Antoinette open that drawer.

They left for the Opera House, and once there Christine gave him an apologetic look.

"I don't go to my dressing room until I'm almost ready to go on stage. There's an old storage room I usually practice in beforehand, you see."

She led him down twisting hallways until she stopped in front of gilded door.

"It's practically abandoned, no one has used it in years," she turned the doorknob and ushered him inside.

His footfalls made no sound as he crossed the carpeted floor and sat down on a rather dusty ottoman. He could definitely believe that Christine was the only one to enter this room in ages. There were large prop pieces leaning against the walls and several shelves worth of various odds and ends, broken clocks and tangled wigs and fake flowers.

She set her purse and tote bag on the floor, color creeping into her cheeks that made her want to slap herself. No matter how much she tried to talk herself out of it, she couldn't help the little flutter her heart gave when she considered that during the nearly three hours she'd be warming up and practicing, it was at least somewhat _probable_ that Erik - who himself was a singer, she had not forgotten despite barely having heard him - would say _something_ about her singing.

She cleared her throat and began her first warm up exercise. She let her eyes close, finding it was easier to focus on her voice that way - she was too nervous, too temped to glance over at Erik to see if she could determine any sort of reaction from him.

She was halfway through the exercise when the surprised yelp of a man from behind her caused her eyes to fly open. Erik was there in front of her - quite close - she hadn't even heard him approach. His posture was stiff, yellow eyes glaring at something just behind her, and she caught a glimpse of what appeared to be a coiled red rope clutched in his left hand before she whirled around to see where the yelp had come from.

Jospeh Buquet stood there, shamefaced and sullen.


	9. Chapter 9

"What are you doing here, Monsieur?" Erik's voice was low and threatening, to the point that Christine almost wanted to take a step away from him.

"I'm doing my job, what are _you_ doing here?" Jospeh retorted, giving him a glare of his own.

"I'm doing my job as well," Erik took another step closer to Christine, who tried not to cower from him.

"Carry on, then," Jospeh grumbled as he grabbed a few items from the shelves, seemingly at random, and hurried out the door.

Christine flinched at the sound of the door slamming shut. As soon as Erik was convinced the man wasn't coming back, he turned from her to go sit on the ottoman, the fierce look gone from his eyes, returned once again to cold aloofness.

"Who was that?" the question was blunter than he intended.

"Jospeh Buquet. He's a stage hand - a scene mover, mostly."

She managed to mostly hide the quiver in her voice. The incident had startled her more than she cared to admit. She placed a hand her chest, willing her breathing to steady and her heart to stop pounding. Erik made an imposing figure at the best of times, but this was first time she realized just how _terrifying_ he could be. She didn't envy anyone on the receiving end of those stares. And was that a _noose_ he had up his sleeve? She shuddered, mentally making a note to not leave her eyes closed around him for very long. Finding Buquet lurking in the room had been even more startling - how many years had she spent coming in this room and never seeing another soul in it and now?

Erik nodded at her words, then waved a hand in her direction.

"Continue with your warmups, please," he told her absentmindedly.

She raised an eyebrow at being told what to do, but he didn't notice.

He replayed the scene in mind again - the hint of movement behind one of the scenery props just behind Christine, the small scuffle of noise that made him jump to his feet, how close that Jospeh Buquet fellow came to becoming aquatinted with the Punjab Lasso... Buquet. That was the one Nadir was always talking about, always getting in trouble for minor offenses. He could sworn the man was _hiding_ behind one of the props, but perhaps he was merely hiding to take a swig of liquor. He certainly had been surprised to see Erik, though.

Erik found his thoughts torn away from Buquet and kidnapping and lassos. How on earth did Christine manage to make simple warm up exercises sound so exquisite? There was simply no room for any other thought than of her when she was singing.

When she jumped into her run-through of the aria she'd be singing later, it was a near tangible ache in his soul. His eyes roved the room, unwilling to let them land on her lest he be unable to look away again. There was a dusty old piano in the corner, probably horribly out of tune, but oh how he longed to spring up and begin playing it for her, to offer her accompaniment. Did she have any idea how close to perfection her voice was? He slouched against the wall behind the ottoman, aiming for nonchalance, as though he wasn't listening to the voice of an absolute angel.

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, taking in how he sprawled against the wall, perpetually too tall for any form of chair he sat on. She pushed her voice, stretching out a note. He closed his eyes. _Was he falling asleep_? Was she that boring? She replayed his previous words in her mind - _I'm doing my job_.

She glanced away. _His job_. Yes, of course. It would foolish to think that there could ever be anything about the two of them that was more than a job to him - and even more foolish of her to have _wanted_ anything else. Her friend's mother's friend would not automatically become _her_ friend as well - even if they were apparently both singers.

She didn't have very many friends who were singers... Or _any_ friends that were singers. She had many acquaintances who sang, and a number of good acquaintances who sang, but none she would have considered as real friends - and none who would have considered her a friend, either. The people she was closest to were all in different fields - ballet or acting or even a baker like Elizabeth back in England. But no singers. She didn't know what, if anything, she had done to make it that way. She was kind as often as she could be, and she was certainly around them often enough. And now, it seemed, there was one more singer who didn't care about her past the confines of his job.

Her stomach twisted and her mind taunted her. What if he actually hated her? What if this aloofness he seemed to carry was simply professionalism masking a serious distaste for her? She stopped singing to take a drink of water. It might not be the case, but it might make it easier to accept their strange situation. He simply didn't like her. If he was at all interested in anything about her, he would have asked, would have brought it up by now. He didn't seem the type to suffer from shyness, so that couldn't be it.

She was a right little fool, she scoffed at herself. Singing her soul out with the hope to coax a compliment from a man two decades her senior who probably couldn't stand to be around her in the first place.

She turned around once again, rolling her head to stretch out the tension in her neck. If he could see fit to ignore her, she would do the same for him. She paced a little as she mentally rehearsed what she would do onstage.

He opened his eyes, daring a look in her direction. He couldn't help how his mind wandered to what she would sound like singing the compositions he had written for her. He let himself imagine, briefly, some fantasy world where he had written an opera and she was his prima donna, preparing to go out on the stage and share his music with the Opera House, with everyone and anyone who would listen, until there was not a single corner of the earth that had not heard the music of the mysterious masked maestro sung by the beautiful woman with the celestial voice.

A small frown marred her perfect face, and he wondered if it was nerves getting to her. That little incident with Buquet had probably thrown her off of her pre-show ritual. She sang through the aria one last time before turning to face the door, calling backwards to him that she was ready to go to her dressing room.

Once there, he turned to face the wall after checking behind the mirror. She gathered up her peacock blue gown and took it behind the partition. There was a long moment of panic as she struggled to fix the zipper on the back of the gown, which had somehow gotten stuck and refused to go either up or down. Her mind was filled with horrible visions of having to explain what was wrong to Erik, of him having to come around the partition and those gloved fingers having to work out the little folds of fabric that were caught, fabric that was _far too close_ to the small of her back, and if he didn't hate her already he certainly would after all that. It took much twisting of her arms and pulling on the zipper until she feared it would rip, but finally - and painfully - she managed to fix it herself. Her sigh of relief was quite audible. She was then able to sit and do her hair and makeup. She kept her gaze firmly on her own self in the mirror - if he was stealing looks at her, she didn't want to know.

Backstage the atmosphere was different than it was during dress rehearsal. Everyone seemed more rushed, more nervous. Christine was lost in her trance of anxious ticks, rocking back and forth on her feet, squeezing her hands, her eyes gone glassy and wide.

Erik felt terribly in the way, a feeling only heightened by the glares and glances from the other performers. Each look only served to remind him that he didn't belong here - that he never would belong to this world of performers. He tried to press as closely to the wall as he could, standing directly behind Christine so that she wouldn't see any of the rude looks he decided to return. It wouldn't do to distract or upset her, especially not before she was due on stage - but he held no qualms about that for any of the other performers.

One of the performers preparing to get on the stage walked a little too quickly past Christine, stepping on her foot as he did so. She gasped, and pulled back. Had Erik not been quick about stepping to side, she would have backed up directly into him. He gave a vicious glare to the oaf who dared to trod on this angel as though she were a mere discarded stage prop, although the man didn't see it as he didn't turn around. A series of snickers coming from Carlotta's entourage informed him that it was no accident, exactly as he had suspected - after all, Christine was standing so close to the wall, trying so hard to not be in the way. The man had gone out of his way to step on her.

Erik huffed. How dare anyone treat her like that? He would have words with little Vicomte about how Christine was being treated here, as he assumed Christine was too sweet to bring it up to him herself - if they ever actually found the Vicomte, that was.

Christine was biting her lip, favoring her good foot now and wringing her hands. Erik had to stop himself from placing a hand on her shoulder.

"Christine," he said carefully. "Are you alright?"

Christine was so tiny, he didn't think it would take very much to break one of her delicate bones, especially one in her foot. If that brute had hurt her, Erik had more than half a mind to greet him with a fist in his face as he came off of the stage.

She looked back at him as if noticing he was there for the first time. She nodded, but he could see unshed tears in her eyes.

"I'm fine."

She was announced on stage and winced as she tried to walk without a limp into the spotlight. Once there she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The music started.

She began her aria. All traces of any pain, any lingering thoughts over what had just happened were erased from her countenance and posture. If perhaps she leaned a little more to one side, that was all that was noticeable. Her voice rang out as clear and solid as ever, her eyes sparkled in the overpowering brightness of the spotlights. If he hadn't seen it happen with his own eyes, he'd never have known that she had been rattled just moments ago.

He felt an odd sense of pride for her. She was an utter professional. He knew that if it had him in her place, he would have missed his cue because he would still be pummeling the man into the ground - unless, of course, someone managed to pry him off and escort him from the premises. But there was Christine, singing as well as ever, as though nothing at all had happened. How strong she was, how brave.

She paused for a moment at the end, absorbing the applause as she bowed before slowly turning and walking gracefully off the stage. By the time she reached Erik, he realized she was walking slowly because her foot still hurt. They went back to her dressing room without a word.

She closed the door behind them and rested her head against it for a moment. She begged herself not to cry, not in front of Erik - there'd be plenty of time for crying when she was in bed that night. She sniffed deeply and pulled away from the door, sitting at her vanity instead. She pulled up the voluminous skirts and kicked off her satin shoe, rubbing her poor foot.

"Are you sure you're alright? Who was that?" he made certain to keep his voice gentle this time.

She shook her head.

"Just one of Carlotta's friends," she sighed as she put on her shoes from earlier.

She limped slightly as she walked behind the partition and he looked away. She let her blue dress fall on the floor, not even caring in that moment how much money the Opera House - how much Raoul - had spent on it. She changed into her regular dress and then snatched up the gown, throwing it over the back of a chair. She carelessly ripped the pins from her hair, not even bothering to wipe away the thick makeup.

"Are you ready?" she asked him wearily.

"Of course."

They stepped outside into the crisp evening air, a thin crescent moon in the sky offering precious little light to see by.

"Christine... Do you always take the same path home?"

"Yes."

He hesitated.

"I don't think we should, tonight. We should go a different way - just in case."

"Can't we start that tomorrow? This is the shortest way and- and I'm so tired," she looked pleadingly at him.

He gave in. Just this one more time surely wouldn't hurt anything.

They trudged along in the near darkness.

They were halfway to their destination when Erik heard the hum of a motor engine.


	10. Chapter 10

It was still an odd thing to see a motor car, an invention that had been around for a little while but still wasn't a terribly popular mode of transportation. Erik couldn't see where this one was exactly, but the hum of the machine's engine was an unforgettable sound and he recognized what it was immediately.

Uneasy with the thought that someone might drive up and grab her from the street, he moved to walk on her side between her and the street. The hum continued somewhere in the distance.

Suddenly it revved to life behind them, tires squealing and swiftly approaching lights blinding them. Erik spun around, and the instant he did, Christine screamed.

He made to turn back to her to make certain she was okay, but as he did he was suddenly shoved into the wall. Too close for the lasso, Erik swung a punch which was narrowly avoided by his attacker.

From the corner of his eye he could see the form of a man struggling with Christine. Panic like he'd never thought he'd know again bloomed in his chest and raced down his limbs. He pressed forward as thought trying to push off the wall, the man holding him there tried to muscle him back. Erik suddenly grabbed at the man's shirt and pulled him towards the wall, using the man's own momentum against him to cause his face to collide with the bricks. His grip on Erik broken as he staggered backwards, Erik sprung forward to assist Christine.

She had barely had time for her mind to register the loud noise behind them and Erik's quick movement when suddenly she realized that someone had been hiding in the darkness of the alley they had paused so briefly by. A strong arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her backwards while a hand tried to snake over her mouth. She managed half a scream before the fingers were attempting to muffle it, a task they failed at due to her instinct to bite them.

Over the pounding in her ears she could vaguely hear the sounds of Erik scuffling with his own attacker. If they managed to incapacitate Erik, or even just delay him enough, she knew it would all be over. It was a thought that terrified her, but she strove to let it fuel her her own fight instead of weaken her.

The man drew his hand back with an angry, surprised hiss. She took the opportunity to jam her elbow backwards, just under his ribcage. The man doubled over but still held tight to her.

Erik couldn't risk using the lasso or the knife he had hidden in another pocket - any minor slip up and he might injure Christine. He chose instead for a swift kick to the side of the man's knee, finally causing him to release his hold on her.

Once free, Christine turned quickly, swinging her purse around to strike the man squarely in the face. Erik was surprised and paused for the briefest of moments. He had expected her to run, not to keep fighting. His lasso hung limply in his hand, having missed his opportunity to use it on the man in the wake of the shocking amount of fight Christine had in her.

She had wound up her arm for another smack to his face with her deceptively heavy little purse, but the blow didn't have time to land as man had crawled as fast he could towards the car that was waiting in the street. Inside the car sat the man who had attacked Erik and one other man besides the driver. They both reached down and helped to haul him into the car before it sped off into the night.

Christine let her purse drop from her hands. It was over. It was over, and she had survived.

Erik spared a only quick glance at the retreating machine before swiftly dropping to one knee in front of Christine. His hands fluttered over her, unsure of if she had injuries anywhere, his eyes desperately examining her in the light of the street lamp.

"Christine, Christine, are you hurt? Did he hurt you?" he choked out, finally letting one hand gently and cautiously cup her cheek.

Two thoughts dominated the mind of Christine Daae in that moment.

The first was surprise that his gloved hand was cool to the touch. She would have expected some amount of warmth to radiate through the material, but there was none.

The second, as he let his thumb caress her delicate cheekbone, that golden gaze staring into her eyes so full of concern, was that this was not the touch of a man who hated her.

Since he had started working with Antoinette, Erik had been the security guard of dozens of people - people of all ages, both women and men. There were assassination and kidnapping attempts on many of those people. None of them, not a single one, had scared him as much as he had been scared tonight. He hadn't felt that level of fear since he was a very young man attempting to flee for his life from the Shah of Persia. But the thought of losing Christine, of any harm coming to her - it was the very same fear he felt once more.

The rush of adrenaline was quickly fading, taking with it the strength she had found to fight back and leaving her with only the crushing realization of how close she had been to being kidnapped or worse.

It was that gentle touch of Erik's that undid her. She threw her arms around his neck, leaning against him for support because her legs simply couldn't hold her up anymore. The day had been too much - too many scares, too much excitement and emotions in the worst of ways. Buquet in her storage room, Carlotta's friend stepping on her foot, near disaster in the streets - she just couldn't anymore.

Erik froze as she leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder, so unused to anyone touching him. He quickly recovered and placed one hand between her shoulder blades, pressing her lightly into him, letting the hand that had been on her face now cradle the back of her head. He could feel how heavily she was relying on him for support. He let them both stay there like that for a little while, his half kneeling position letting them finally be on nearly equal level, before he swallowed against the lump in his throat and broke the silence of the nighttime air.

"We can't stay here," he whispered in her ear. "It isn't safe. Can you walk at all?"

She shook her head. She didn't trust her legs to be able to carry her.

Erik made a quick calculation in his mind. Antoinette's house was still quite a distance away, but their office was just down the street.

"Christine," he said softly. "If you can't walk, I'm going to have to carry you - is that all right?"

"Yes," her voice against his shoulder was muffled.

He nodded.

"Okay. I'm- I have to put my arm under your knees," he explained.

He paused for only a moment to pick her purse up off the ground, draping its strap over his own shoulder before looping his arm underneath of her legs and lifting her off the ground.

She stifled a squeak of surprise - she hadn't been expecting him to be able to lift her quite so easily or quickly. She was short, yes, but she certainly wasn't as thin as she had been when she was a dancer - and even then she hadn't been as thin as some of the other girls. But Erik seemed to have to no problem at all lifting her up and rising to his feet with her in his arms, setting a quick pace down the street.

"I'm taking you to the office, it's much closer and we'll be safe there," he said. "We can't risk the walk to Antoinette's with the possibility of those men still out there and you like this."

She made a noise of agreement.

She was surprised to find that the rest of him was only marginally warmer than his hands were. This man was full of surprises, it seemed. She took a deep breath. Now that she was so close to him, she could tell that he smelled of frankincense and spice. It was a scent that would always remind her of incense in churches - especially of funerals in churches, she had been to so many, all heavily laden with that scent in the air. She shivered.

When the office building was in sight, she realized her legs were finally regaining their normal feel. She thought she could probably make it the rest of the way on her own, but they _were_ almost there, and he really didn't seem to mind carrying her, so she held her tongue and let him continue. Besides, her foot still felt bruised from earlier, she justified it to herself.

He set her down briefly in front of the door that led to the little hallway that ended with their office door, fishing for a key ring in his coat pocket. He retrieved it, unlocked the door, then picked her up once again to carry her down the hallway, briefly freeing a hand to quickly secure the lock again. She couldn't stop the little noise that left her when he picked her up that time - she hadn't been expecting him to do so.

When he set her down on her feet in front of the office door, unlocking it, she hesitated. She knew what was likely coming now - and she was perfectly capable of walking on her own, she had been for a little while now. If she simply pulled away from she could walk into the office before he stooped to hoist her up again. But if she pulled away, would he think it was because she was afraid of him, or that she didn't like him? She didn't want to give the impression that she couldn't wait to be away from his touch. So she stood where she was, hands lightly on his shoulders, and sure enough as soon as the door was unlocked and the knob twisted, he scooped her up again and carried her over the threshold - almost like a man carrying his bride to their new home, she thought with the slightest of blushes, _almost_ like.

He kicked the door closed with his foot and laid her down on the couch, locking the door and then grabbing a pillow to place under her feet. He placed her purse on the floor next to the couch.

"Put your feet up, Christine, it'll help you feel better," he fussed over her, making sure the pillow behind her back was at the right place and pulling a blanket over her lap.

"I'm fine, Erik, really," she found all of his attention after so long of him barely looking at her was overwhelming and a little embarrassing.

"How long has it been since you've eaten?" he asked, realizing he hadn't seen her eat all day.

"I had breakfast earlier with Madame Giry. I often forget to eat on show days," she explained.

He frowned. How had he not realized sooner? He was so used to going without food himself that he sometimes forgot it was thing that other people needed. He cursed himself - he wasn't taking very good care of his charge, letting her starve half to death.

"Stay there," he said firmly before disappearing upstairs.

When he returned he had a plate of various foods - cold cut meat and a sweet roll, a piece of cheese and a few iced cookies - and in the middle of plate were slices of green apple. She sucked in a breath when she noticed them, looking over at him. He was in the corner of the room, preparing a cup of tea for her, his back turned.

Had he bought the apple because of what she said?

"I wasn't hinting that I wanted you to buy me an apple, you know. When I mentioned it in the store earlier."

He set the tea on the table next to her, suddenly too shy to meet her eye. He had intended to give her the apple after her performance, a small gift - something thoughtful, more personal than just flowers - but he never envisioned giving it to her like this, and dearly regretted that it had to be this way.

"I know," he hovered near her, hesitating, as though he didn't know what to do with himself. "Are you certain that you're okay? How do you feel?"

"I'm fine," she pushed herself up off the couch. "What about you, though? I saw he had you up against that wall..."

She looked up at him, concerned.

He rolled his eyes.

"I've seen far worse, trust me. A minor bruise, at most. I'm going to call Antoinette, she must be worried sick about you when we didn't show up on time."

He sat at the desk and dialed her number. Christine took the opportunity to begin eating her food, saving the apple for last. He had been listening to her after all, she realized. Buying apples wasn't in his job description, and people don't buy apples for people they don't care about.

"Antoinette? It's Erik, Christine is with me and she's fine," he paused. "On our way back from the Opera House some men accosted us, but I - we - dealt with them. They escaped in a car, however, so they're still out there. Is everything fine on your end?"

He was silent, listening to her reply. He looked surprised, turning to stare at Christine.

"I don't know, we haven't discussed it," he placed the receiver against his shoulder, attempting to muffle it before he addressed Christine. "Christine, do you feel up to making the trip to Antoinette's tonight? After you finish eating and have rested, of course."

He left off the part where Antoinette had asked if Christine would prefer to spend the night at the office with Erik instead.

"Yes, I can make it, I think," she frowned. "What about you, you'd have to walk all the way back here again by yourself."

He waved a dismissive hand.

"Don't worry about that," he returned to the phone call. "She wants to go back to your house. Oh you heard her? What do you mean she's right?"

Silence.

"_Antoinette_," he whined. "Are you serious? Are you-"

He held the ear piece away from him, and Christine could hear Antoinette's voice echoing loudly from it.

"Alright! Alright! It's the most asinine thing I've ever heard, but I'll do it."

He slouched dramatically in the chair, rolling his eyes and sighing.

"Fine," he conceded. "I'll see you shortly."

He sprang up from the chair and headed upstairs, taking the steps two at a time.

Christine finished her meal alone. The green apple was just as good as she remembered it, crisp and sour and just right.

When Erik returned he was carrying a large briefcase, which he set by the door.

"Let me know whenever you're ready to go to Antoinette's," he told her before settling in behind the desk.

She nodded, taking her time to finish drinking the tea he had made for her. She appreciatively noticed the sugar bowl that he had also set on the table for her, another thing he seemingly remembered. When she finished both her food and her tea, and had sat and centered her breath for a little while, she stood up.

"I'm ready," she said.

He looked up from the papers on the desk, nodding.

He grabbed the suitcase with a sigh and locked the doors behind them, stepping out into the night once more.


	11. Chapter 11

The walk to Antoinette's house was fraught with tension, but nothing further happened. They arrived on her doorstep and were quickly ushered inside.

"Christine! I heard!" Meg threw her arms around her friend. "I was so scared!"

"Oh, I was too... But I'm okay," Christine hugged her tightly.

"What about you, Erik?" Antoinette asked softly. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. It's nothing much. I've had worse tripping over my own feet."

Christine settled on the couch next to Meg, telling her all about it.

Erik pulled Antoinette into the kitchen.

"They sent three men and a driver after her, Antoinette," he told her darkly. "Why? No one needs that much muscle to steal a tiny woman like her. They clearly knew beforehand that I was with her. They planned this."

"I'm afraid you're right. They must have eyes on her," Antoinette fretted. "Have you noticed anyone that you keep seeing around her?"

Erik shook his head.

"Everyone at the Opera House knows I'm with her. It's impossible to pinpoint just one person," he hesitated. "That Carlotta, she's terribly cruel to her, but I don't know what purpose it would serve to extort the Comte."

He snapped his fingers, suddenly remembering.

"That drunk, that Buquet, he was in her storage room."

"Storage room?" Antoinette was confused.

"She practices in a storage room. He was there today, but I don't know what purpose he would have, either."

Antoinette raised an eyebrow.

"I don't think Buquet knows his own purpose half the time, Erik. I don't think he even remembers his own _name_ when he's drunk, and that's pretty often. I've heard about Carlotta from Meg, but I honestly can't think of what she'd want either. I know she dislikes Christine, but..."

"Regardless, she's being watched. They knew when she'd be leaving after her show, they knew the path she'd take, which means they know she's staying here, and they knew I'd be with her. Have you made any progress with the Comte?"

"No, none. He's being impossible."

"We should have Nadir arrest him for obstruction of justice," Erik growled. "If he keeps this up we may have to resort to _unorthodox_ methods. I _know_ he knows something."

Antoinette put her face in her hands and groaned. Heaven help them all when Erik had to bust out his _unorthodox methods_. She was almost afraid to even ask, not wanting to be liable as an accomplice should things go south.

"It's been a long night, Erik. You should get some rest and we'll regroup in the morning," she walked towards the doorway, calling into the living room. "Christine- we saved you some dinner, come and eat it, dear."

Christine was closely followed by Meg as she entered the kitchen.

"I ate just a little earlier, though," she told her.

"That was hardly a meal, Christine," Erik reprimanded. "You need more food than that. Sit and eat."

He pointed at the chair next to the kitchen table, and Meg pulled it out for her.

"You should eat something too, Erik - we saved some for you," Antoinette told him.

"But I'm not hungry," his tone bordered on whiny.

"Christine," Antoinette addressed her. "Did Erik eat anything today, besides that pitiful excuse for a breakfast?"

Christine glanced back and forth between their faces, Antoinette's stern and commanding and Erik's (what she could see of it, anyway) looking every inch the child with his hand caught in the cookie jar.

"He, ah, he did not - not that I saw, anyway," she said nervously.

Erik took a step backwards, placing a hand over his chest in mock indignation.

"Betrayed! And after all I did for you, Mademoiselle!" he gasped.

"Erik sit down," Antoinette rolled her eyes.

He obediently sat down across from Christine, who giggled at the somber look he gave her.

Antoinette placed a plate in front of each of them, which they dutifully ate while Meg and her mother idly chatted in the background.

"How was your show, Christine?" Meg asked.

Christine thought about it before answering.

"It went very well," she finally said.

Erik paused. Was she not going to say anything about getting stepped on?

"I was happy with how I sang, and the audience seemed to enjoy it," she continued.

"What about you, Erik?" Meg asked. "What did you think of Christine's performance?"

Erik nearly dropped his fork. What did he think of her? What kind of question was that? Who asks that?

A strange hush fell over the trio at the table. Antoinette was at the sink, blissfully oblivious to the sudden tension.

Christine fiddled with her food, pushing it around the plate with the fork as she waited for Erik's answer.

Meg leaned in eagerly. Too eagerly.

He glanced from Meg, whose gaze was practically boring a hole in him, to Christine, who was pointedly not look in his direction.

He looked down at his own plate.

"She did very well," he blurted out and quickly shoveled a forkful of food into his mouth, hoping there would be no follow up questions.

Meg grinned, and Christine looked up, surprised. Erik was already looking off in a different direction, desperately praying no one would notice the blush that was most definitely creeping down his neck and tinting his ears.

Well. The compliment was prompted, and practically a repeat of what she herself had already said, but still- Christine smiled.

Meg was rather pleased with herself. She knew that Christine wasn't treated the best at the Opera House, and compliments for her were few and far between - mostly out of jealousy, as far as Meg could tell. She had hoped that the man would have been able to muster up something better than 'she did very well', but it was a start, and Christine seemed happy.

Meg and Christine talked through the rest of their meal, and Erik watched, lost in his thoughts. Antoinette retired to the living room.

He had come so close to losing Christine. He didn't know how he would live with himself if something had happened to her on his watch. He had been so surprised afterwards, when she hadn't pulled back from his unthinking touch - and then when she had clung to him. At first he had thought little of it - she had been terribly frightened, and he was the most familiar thing in that moment, so it only made sense that she seek comfort from him.

But he had expected that any moment she'd come to her senses, try to escape his grip or demand to be put down - except she never did. She let him carry her the entire way, even once they were safe at the office. And she had seemed just fine on the walk to Antoinette's, so the adrenaline induced jelly-legged feeling must not have lasted _that_ long. Surely she had recovered, or mostly recovered, on the way there, only she hadn't said anything. Perhaps that meant, after all, that she wasn't too afraid of him, didn't feel too uncomfortable near him. Perhaps she didn't think it was too horrible to be around him. He didn't dare hope for more than that, for anything else other than to not be repulsive to her. To befriend such an angel was simply too much to ask.

He was still upset over her treatment backstage. What had Christine ever done to any of them, besides work hard on her voice and make use of her talent? It was unacceptable to him. How often he had wished, during bouts of mistreatment, for a normal face and a normal life so that people would have no reason to treat him harshly, to mock or abuse him - and yet here was Christine, pure, innocent, beautiful Christine, without any physical or spiritual flaw to be seen, and yet still she had to suffer at the hands of others! It simply wasn't fair, and he burned with anger over it.

He watched as she carefully cut up the meat on her plate as she listened to one of Meg's stories. One would never guess just by looking at her the depth of fierceness in her, the amount of steely resolve. She looked like a fragile porcelain doll, but she had held her own against the man in the alley. The way she had turned off her own inner turmoil as she stepped on the stage, too, was impressive to say the least. What other secrets did she hold?

She yawned.

"Oh! You should go to bed soon, Christine, you must be exhausted," Meg said.

Christine glanced at Erik.

"I will. I just didn't want to go to bed while we still had a guest over," she said shyly. "It felt rude."

It took Erik a moment to realize she was referring to him.

"Actually, Antoinette has insisted - rather loudly, as I'm sure you noticed during my phone call - that I stay here tonight. You may retire whenever you wish."

"Oh?"

"She seems to think it would be safer for us all - while I'm sure you all are safer with me here, it's laughable to think any danger would come to _me_ on my walk back to the office," he rolled his eyes and gave a long-suffering sigh. "But she insisted, so stay I will."

"I see."

Meg gathered up Christine's empty plate and silverware to take to the sink, and made to reach for Erik's as well. He pulled it back from her.

"I can clean my own dish, Meg, I'm not a child."

"No, no - you heard Christine- you are a _guest_ here, I insist you let me do for you!"

"Come now, I'm perfectly capable," he insisted, firmly gripping the plate.

She pulled at it, undaunted.

"Let me take your plate, you great lout," she hissed at him.

He released it.

"You know, you inherited a great many traits from your mother. Did I ever tell you that, Marguerite?" he mused.

"Erik!" she pretended to be scandalized. "What a terrible thing to say!"

"I know, that's why I said it. Perhaps you'll let me clear the table next time, hmm?"

Meg shook her head.

"You are an insufferable man," she sighed. "Come on, Christine, let's go to bed. It's late."

Meg flounced out of the room, and Christine rose to follow her.

"Thank you, Erik," she said as she passed by him, uncertain of if she was thanking him for carrying her or for the compliment on her singing or for the apple, so she left it at that in the hopes that it would be for all three.

"Of course," he gave a nod.

"Christine," he asked suddenly as she was on the verge of leaving the room.

"Yes?"

"Are green apples still your favorite?"

"Yes, they are," she replied.

He glanced over his shoulder for one last look at her before she went upstairs, and she gifted him with a smile - the first real, actual smile he had seen from her that was directed at him, and his heart stuttered in his chest.

"Goodnight, Erik. I'll see you in the morning."

"Goodnight, Christine."


	12. Chapter 12

How quickly things can change, Christine thought to herself as she closed her eyes that night. She prayed that her dreams wouldn't replay that awful scene she had lived through just hours ago. She chose to focus instead on Erik.

Erik. She surely hadn't imagined it, had she? The gentleness of his touch, as though she were something precious and fragile. The concerned anguish glowing in those odd eyes as he searched her face for injury. She sighed. What she wouldn't give to go back to two and half months ago when so she could redo their unfortunate introduction. Perhaps she'd been wrong about him this entire time - perhaps _he_ thought she didn't like _him_. How awkward, she mused.

She was glad that Madame Giry had made him stay the night. She knew he was a formidable opponent, and that he carried weapons (to think, there was a noose up the sleeve of the arm that held her so softly, and who knows what else in that long coat of his) but he was still only a man, and the scuffle that evening had proved he could be distracted and quite possibly overcome. Those men might still be out there, looking for revenge. She would have worried for him walking back so late all by himself, and Madame Giry probably had that same worry herself. She wondered if perhaps Erik had a shadow of that worry in his own mind, though he would never admit to it - but he _had_ agreed very quickly to stay, after all. Whether that was a testament to his own fear or to the insistence of Madame, she couldn't say for certain.

She knew he was just downstairs on the couch, and she knew it was rather unseemly of her to even think about it, but she wondered if he was sleeping in the clothes he had been wearing earlier or if he had changed into pajamas, and wondered at what on earth could be in that giant suitcase of his, if it was stuffed full or merely the only one he owned. Was he wearing his mask? Did he always wear his mask to sleep, even when he was alone? Surely not. Was his face going to hurt in the morning after wearing it all night? She sighed. It probably _was_ unseemly to be wondering about his current state of dress, but she was trying to avoid nightmares, after all, and if she had to think unseemly things about him to keep those nightmares away - so be it.

When sleep finally did visit her, her dreams were of those strong, kind arms around her, of being held against that broad expanse of his chest, of the scent of incense, and when she woke and remembered what her dreams had consisted of, she was suddenly quite glad that it was Madame Giry's day to watch her instead of Erik.

Breakfast was an odd thing. Erik once again tried to insist he wasn't hungry, and Antoinette once again commanded him to eat anyway, and of course he complied.

Since having to stay with the Girys, those breakfasts with them both every morning were the closest she'd felt to having family around her after Mama Valerius had died. She was surprised at how easily Erik seemed to fit into that family. Perhaps, she mused, it was a product of how many years he and Antoinette had known each other - seeing the two of them interact reminded her of herself and Raoul, a bittersweet memory that warmed her heart while making it twist.

"Where are you off to today, Erik?" Antoinette asked as they headed to the door.

"I'll be speaking to some friends and associates of the Vicomte. That reminds me, Christine - I need to speak to you tomorrow as well."

Christine nodded solemnly.

"I'll be at the office all day if you need anything," Antoinette told him. "I'm terribly close to finding that little boy, I know it. The thread is there somewhere, buried in all my notes - I just have to find the end of it and _pull_. Just a few more days, I should think."

Erik parted ways with them halfway to the office. True to her word, Antoinette had an enormous stack of notes and files that she grabbed out of a box and placed on her desk with a resounding thud.

"I'm sorry that today will be a little boring for you, my dear," she sighed as she got to work.

"It's alright," Christine assured her. "Sometimes boring can be good..."

Her thoughts wandered too close to the previous day's events and she shuddered.

She amused herself with a magazine for a little while until her interest waned.

"Madame," she started, hesitatingly. "Would you mind terribly if I practiced my audition piece for the newest production?"

Antoinette gave it a thought.

"Why don't you practice in the basement? It's almost soundproof down there after Erik redid the walls. I do love your singing, but - work demands my utmost attention, you know."

"Of course, Madame," Christine nodded.

She went down into the basement, only a little nervous of the thought of the spiders which almost certainly would live down there. She was so focused on the thought of spiders that the sight of the organ up against the wall stopped her dead in her tracks. What on earth was an organ doing down here? She remembered what Madame Giry had said about Erik trying to soundproof the walls and assumed that it belonged him - she certainly couldn't picture Madame playing that thing.

Her intent to practice her singing melted away as she found other things to catch her interest. The large bookshelf was a sight to behold. She tilted her head to read the titles, and was surprised to find that less than half of the titles were in French. She recognized a few of the other languages - English, Russian, Italian - and a number of strange languages with letters she couldn't understand at all. These had to be Erik's as well, as Antoinette only knew French. Could he really speak so many languages?

She pulled an English title off the shelf, a language that she could read. She flipped through the pages, finding it to be a book of poetry. She was about to place it back on the shelf when something behind the books caught her eye. It looked like wrinkled papers. She reached back and pulled them out, careful to not mess them up any more than they already were.

They were staves, with handwritten music on them. Her heart leapt. This music looked like nothing she'd ever heard before. On closer inspection, there were lyrics to go along with the music, but the words were written so small and sketchy that she could only make out half of the meaning - but she could read enough to know that these were love songs. They were beautiful - and they all seemed to be within her vocal range. She felt her face grow warm. But, surely he hadn't known, had he? It had to be a mere coincidence. Right in the corner of the compositions he had written the date he presumably wrote each one, and they were all from around a month ago. He had only heard her sing quite recently - hadn't he? Her mind wandered to that night at her dressing room door, when she thought she had caught a glimpse of his mask in the crowd.

She bit her lip and carefully placed the staves back where she had found them, replacing the book in front of them. She could only imagine what it would be like to actually perform those pieces - the mere thought gave her chills. Suddenly she no longer had any interest in practicing her old audition pieces.

With one last glance to make sure she hadn't left anything out of place, she made her way back upstairs and sat on the couch, her mind working overtime.

"Madame Giry," she began with as much nonchalance as she could manage. "Did Erik ever come to any of my performances in Faust?"

Antoinette looked up, apologetic.

"I don't think he did, dear. I wouldn't take it personally, though, I don't think he goes to the Opera House at all, you know."

Antoinette paused.

"Why do you ask?"

Christine ducked her head, picking at her nails.

"No reason, really. Just curious."

She felt rather silly. Just because they were in her vocal range didn't mean they were for _her_ \- why, Carlotta had nearly the same range and so did several other singers at the opera. She chided herself for letting her imagination run away and for thinking that the world revolved around herself. Erik wouldn't be writing love songs about her any more than Raoul would be writing love songs about her - _Raoul_. How silly she was to let her mind run away with her like that! Just the other day she was imagining that he hated her with a fiery passion, and now here she was fantasizing that he was secretly in love with her... What utter nonsense she came up with sometimes, she shook her head.

She spent the rest of the day attempting to read a book in between worrying for Raoul and fighting the urge to go look at those compositions of Erik's again. They might not be written for her, but that didn't stop her from wanting to sing them. She fervently wished she had taken a few moments to try to memorize at least parts of them so that she could sing then if she wished. Why had they been hidden away so? She certainly couldn't bring them up to Erik and ask about them, then he would know she was snooping in his room and he surely wouldn't appreciate that even if he truly didn't hate her.

It was late in the afternoon and Christine was nearly nodding off on the couch when the door flung open and caused her to jerk awake.

"That damn Comte," Erik growled, bursting through the door and pacing the room.

"What's wrong now?" Antoinette murmured, not bothering to look up from her work, too used to his moods.

"All of his infernal friends and associates are just as stubborn and elusive as he is, I couldn't get a straight answer from any of them," he fumed. "It's almost as if he doesn't want to find the boy."

He sat heavily on the couch, chewing on his nails. Christine was a mere two feet away from him yet he paid her no mind as though she weren't even there.

"Mark my words, Antoinette - this will require _unorthodox methods_," he proclaimed darkly.

Christine suppressed a shiver at those words, unsure of what they meant. Antoinette had to turn away so he wouldn't see her roll her eyes.

A knock came at the door, followed by Nadir.

"Is this a bad time?" he glanced around.

"You are right on time, Daroga," Erik said as he stood and began to pace once more. "As I was just discussing with Antoinette, this investigation is going nowhere thanks to that ass of a Comte. I'm afraid, dear Daroga, that I must use _unorthodox methods_ in this one, presumably sometime tonight."

Nadir put his face in hands and groaned.

"Why do you tell me that, Erik? Why do you always tell me that? I don't want to know that," he sighed.

"Because," Erik sounded offended, as though he were insulted that he had to spell out the simplest of ideas to Nadir. "I merely wish to not be accosted by your lackeys should some imbecile assume the house in question is being burglarized."

Nadir sighed deeply.

"But I don't like having that knowledge," he insisted. "I don't want to know when you're breaking the law, Erik, it places me in a terribly uncomfortable position."

Christine raised an eyebrow. Goodness - was Erik planning on breaking in to Philippe's house?

"Daroga, Daroga, my dear old friend," Erik placed a hand on the man's shoulder. "How many years have we known each other now? Practically brothers, aren't we? After all this time, Daroga, you should know by now - I don't care about your comfort."

"Well, hopefully we can make _something_ of this case - as a matter of fact, the police chief from the neighboring district has taken quite an interest it," Nadir offered, trying to forget what Erik had mentioned about his planned breaking and entering.

Antoinette frowned.

"Why would he take an interest in this?" she asked.

Nadir shrugged.

"They're having a slow time over there, apparently. And the districts are so close together, he seemingly feels there's enough overlap to warrant his looking into it as well."

"Odd," Erik offered, but his mind was already turning with plots about how to get in the Comte's house.

Nadir stayed and chatted a while longer before taking his leave. A silence settled over the room, Erik lost in thought and Antoinette lost in paperwork. Christine squirmed, unsure of how to bring up what she so desperately wanted to say.

"You're- you're breaking in to Philippe's house tonight?" she finally managed.

Erik looked at her as though noticing her for the first time.

"To look for _clues_, Christine," he sounded aghast. "I'm not breaking in for fun."

Antoinette snorted.

"Not _this_ time, at least,"  
Erik protested. "Besides, he brought this on himself."

Christine took a deep breath.

"I want in," she said firmly.


	13. Chapter 13

Erik stared at her, dumbstruck.

"You _what_?"

"I want in, on the plan. The breaking in plan," she clarified, managing to say it without stuttering.

Erik glanced at Antoinette, hoping for backup. She merely looked at him, slightly alarmed but cautiously waiting to hear what else Christine would say on the matter.

"Why the devil would you want to do that?" he demanded. "It's absolutely out of the question. You're not going."

"No, Erik - hear me out. You've only been to his house a handful of times. I used to spend ages there when I was younger, I know every nook and cranny of that place. We'll save so much time if we go together, I know exactly which stairs creak, which doors are hidden behind veneers, where he keeps his secret items."

Erik listened but gave no sign of agreeing, so she continued, glancing at Madame Giry as she did, attempting to summon some of the woman's courage for her own even if she happened to disagree about letting Christine go with him.

"Besides, you don't know how tired I am of this - of this waiting and sitting around and doing nothing and being watched like some jewel in a case just waiting for a villain to snatch me away. I'm tired of having things happen to me as though I have no say in anything at all - I'm tired of being passive in this whole situation. I'm tired of- of being a burden, of being like some object you both have to guard," she wrung her hands in her earnestness. "I can do things too, you know. Raoul is so very dear to me, I love him so much, and it kills me to have to sit back and do absolutely nothing while I know he's out there needing help."

Erik gaped at her. He turned to Antoinette, who raised her eyebrows and quickly turned away. Christine caught the look and pled her case to the woman.

"Don't you agree with me, Madame?"

"Antoinette!" Erik admonished.

Antoinette threw her hands up in defeat.

"I am staying out of this one," she sighed. "It is my _personal_ opinion that it's too dangerous for you, Christine. But... I am not the boss of you and your actions."

"Good heavens, Antoinette!" Erik sputtered. "If you aren't the boss of her, who is?"

"She's a grown woman, Erik," she shrugged. "She is her own boss. I can't stop her, but I can _fully disapprove_."

Erik ran a hand through his hair.

"Have you both gone mad?" he demanded. "Is no one going to stop this?"

"Christine- I really do think you shouldn't go, just to be on the safe side," she offered.

"Well-" Christine knew she had one last chance to win them over. "I know it might be _unorthodox_," she drew out every syllable of the word, causing Erik to narrow his eyes at her. "But consider this - if Philippe happens to catch someone in his home uninvited - who do you think he'll take kinder to - _Erik_, or his dear little childhood friend, Christine?"

Antoinette leaned back in her chair.

"She has you there, Erik," she shrugged.

Erik huffed. The nerve of these women!

But even he could see the wisdom in Christine's plan, though it pained him to admit it.

"I should certainly hope he _would_ take kindly to finding you snooping around his house, because if anyone has to go with me on this little excursion, we are almost certainly going to be caught," he said stubbornly.

She crossed her arms and shook her head.

"No, you don't know that. Do you have any idea how many times I've snuck through that house in the middle of the night when I was younger? More times than _you've_ snuck through it, I'm sure."

She felt she was being terribly rude, but his insistence that she would mess up the plan combined with how frustrated she felt doing nothing had left her in quite a cross mood.

He pressed a hand over his eyes, groaning.

"We will discuss this later," he settled on saying. "We have more important things to speak of at the moment."

He fished a notebook and pencil out of his pocket and pulled a chair up to the couch.

"How long have you known Philippe de Chagny?"

Christine raised an eyebrow. She would answer his questions, but if he thought he was going to distract her and make her forget about where she wanted to go that night, he was sorely mistaken.

"As long as I can remember, really. His father was a great fan of my father, and they became friends. I'd say I've always known him, really."

Erik nodded and scribbled something down on the notebook.

"How well would you say you know Philippe?"

She hesitated.

"Well, I know Raoul far better. Raoul's only a few years older than me, you know - Philippe is nearly eight years older than me. Raoul and I spent a lot of time together, and being brothers of course Philippe often hung around us as well, but it's hard to have things in common when there's such a big age gap, I'm sure you understand."

Erik swallowed against that tight feeling in his throat. He had no reasonable explanation as to why Christine's opinion that eight years was a _such a big_ age gap disappointed him so - it _was_ a big age gap, it was nearly a decade - and what did Erik care what Christine thought of age gaps, anyway?

"But I know him well enough, I'd say," she paused. "I know him as well as I'd like to know him."

"What can kind of a man would you say he is?"

"That's a very vague question, Monsieur."

Erik glanced up.

"And that's a very vague answer. Is he a good man, would you consider him _morally upright_," Erik rolled his eyes. "A decent man, and all the like?"

Christine considered before answering.

"Philippe is a... complicated man."

Erik said nothing, and Christine continued.

"He can be kind frequently, but he can also be cruel at times."

"How so?"

"Well," she thought for a moment. "One time when we were children, the three of us - Raoul, and him, and me - we were walking in the woods, as we liked to do sometimes. There was a tree that had fallen over the river, and Raoul was quite convinced it could be used as a bridge. Philippe said it would be too dangerous to try to cross - it had been raining quite a lot the past few days, so the river was much deeper than normal. Well, Raoul insisted on trying it, stepping out across it, and he almost made it halfway across before he ended up falling."

Christine shifted uncomfortably, obviously still disturbed by the memory.

"Poor little Raoul didn't know how to swim at the time, but Philippe refused to pull him out of the water. I ended up having to help him even though I was a weak swimmer myself. Philippe said it was Raoul's fault that he had fallen in and that he shouldn't have to save him from his own problems."

"An ass, even as a child," Erik murmured, writing down a note.

"But he's not all terrible, you know. He does care about Raoul, in his own way. He threw quite a party for him before he left for the Marine Nationale. He tended to him quite devotedly when he was seriously ill once, and he always tells people how proud he is of him."

"Hmph. I'm not here to hear you sing his praises, Christine. Tell more about what makes uncomfortable around him."

"Hmm... When Raoul was a little older, maybe about eleven, he had the most darling little dog. Raoul loved that dog dearly - he went everywhere with it outside, but his mother was quite insistent that it not come inside. But he took it with us on walks, and he could spend hours at a time playing fetch with it or brushing its soft fur... Except- except one day Raoul forgot to shut the gate. When he got up the next morning, the little dog had run off. That would have been that, but- Philippe had to go and mention that he knew the night before that Raoul had left the gate open, yet Philippe didn't close it on purpose, knowing the dog would get out."

She wrung her hands thinking about it.

"He let the dog escape to teach Raoul a lesson."

"Did- did the dog ever come back?" Erik couldn't stop the question from spilling out - he used to have a beloved dog as a child, too.

_used to_

She shook her head.

"No, we never saw it again."

He sighed.

"As I said, he can be complicated. He is not without his vices, also," she demurely smoothed down her skirts. "But then again, who among us isn't?"

Erik looked up from his notebook.

"Speak for yourself, Christine- _I_ am practically a saint," he said gravely.

Antoinette choked on her tea.

Christine shook her head, trying to suppress a smile.

"Now, tell me about his vices. Is one of them, perhaps, drinking too much brandy in the early afternoon hours and passing out from intoxication while he has guest over?"

"Perhaps," she said measuredly.

He made a circular motion in the air with his pencil, as though to prompt her into continuing.

"Hmm, he's fond of card games, and of horse races. He's quite fond of anything you can bet on, really - and I don't think it's so terrible to bet on a game every now and then, except - except Philippe is also rather competitive. He can get very worked up sometimes, quite insistent on winning his money back... Sometimes he just doesn't know when to stop," she gave a little shrug.

Erik nodded and continued writing.

"And he is fond of drink, as you said. I feel it often brings the worst in him, amplifies his lesser qualities."

There was silence for a few moments, broken only by the scratch of the pencil and the gentle rustle of papers from Antoinette. Christine seemed to have said everything she had planned on saying about that topic.

"Christine, do you think Philippe is involved in his brother's disappearance?"

Christine's brow furrowed and she didn't reply right away.

"This shouldn't be a difficult question, you know," Erik pointed out. "He's either the kind of the man who would do something like to his own brother or he isn't."

"Well, I'm not certain, Erik. I would like to be able to say that no, he isn't capable of doing something like to him, except... I can't. Not honestly," she hesitated before continuing. "But that doesn't mean I think he actually is involved, you must understand - I only think that he is capable of it."

He sighed as he flipped through his notes, going over everything he had already asked her.

"That's all for now," he told her. "But I'm sure I'll have more to ask later on."

He rose from the chair.

"I assume, Antoinette, that you'll both be going home soon?" he asked hopefully.

She glanced up from her work.

"I do suppose so," she replied.

"Will you bring me back here, Madame, or will Erik come by your house to pick me up for tonight?" Christine chimed in.

Erik bit his lip. Damn.

"Christine," he grit out before Antoinette could answer. "How exactly do you think we'll be getting to the Comte's house?"

She considered it for a moment.

"I'm- I'm not certain... A carriage, perhaps?"

"We're just going to pull a carriage up in front of his house before breaking in? Shall we park it out in the open for all to see, hmm?"

She flushed at his condescending tone. It was almost enough to make her second guess his apparent kindness the previous day.

"Well alright, how are we getting there, then?"

"_I_ was going on horseback, a plan that is now in jeopardy due to _someone's_ insistence in accompanying me. I suppose I'll have to appropriate a horse for you as well - Nadir won't be pleased, but at least it won't be entirely my fault this time."

Erik was already mentally going through the small stable that belonged to Nadir, trying to think of another dark colored horse besides his own that lived there, when Christine interrupted his thoughts.

"Ahh, Erik - I don't actually know how to ride a horse," she frowned.

He turned to stare slack-jawed at Antoinette, who merely returned a weary look as she tried to remind herself that none of this was her problem. She gave a little shrug.

He turned back to Christine, vindicated.

"Then you can't go with me, after all. There's simply no way, unless- no, there's no way. You'll have to stay home. End of discussion."

"Are you sure?" Christine pleaded with him. "Are you very sure?"

"Would you make us walk, Christine? All the way there and back? An old man like me?"

He paused a moment, waiting for her to reply, but she only stared at him in silence and any minuscule hope he harbored of her refuting his being an 'old man' who couldn't handle a long walk was utterly dashed. He rambled on, attempting to ignore the sting he had inflicted on himself.

"There's only one other option, but you wouldn't like it, so it's not an option at all. I'll go by myself."

"What's the other option?" she lifted her chin in defiance.

He narrowed his eyes.

"It's not an option, Christine."

"How do you know that when you won't even tell me what it is?"

"Because," he said evenly. "We would _both_ be riding on the same horse. I'm sure you can see why that's less than ideal."

A look of deep concern came over her face and she wrung her hands.

"Oh, oh, I see what you mean, of course," she said, and Erik relaxed just slightly, certain that she had finally given up on going.

"The horse would mind terribly, wouldn't it?" she asked after a moment, and his shoulders stiffened once more. "I suppose the poor thing isn't used to carrying two people at once..."

"Cesar... has carried two riders in the past," the words escaped his lips against his will, and he cursed himself for even bringing it up at all.

"Oh," she nodded thoughtfully. "So will I meet you here or will you come by Madame's tonight?" she asked once more, as though the matter were settled.

He released a huff of a breath between his teeth and turned away from her. This woman would be the death of him.

Antoinette tried her best to suppress any smirk or laugh. Christine had always been a very polite and courteous child, but even then she had a streak of strong will running through her. That streak seemed to have only grown as the years went on, magnified even more by her time in England. Poor Erik probably didn't realize what he was getting into - he was so used to simply being able to boss his clients around, most of them secretly too afraid to say anything to the contrary. It was a situation that often worked in everyone's favor, especially in cases where he was guarding someone. But this - Erik had certainly never had to deal with someone like this before, and Antoinette knew she was going to enjoy watching it play out.


	14. Chapter 14

"I will come by Antoinette's house later tonight, at the back door,"  
he finally grit out. "When I arrive, you will be ready to go immediately and you be dressed all in black, do you understand?"

Christine nodded seriously.

"And once we leave Antoinette's backyard, there will be not a single peep from you until I have dropped you off at Antoinette's again, are we clear?" he continued.

"Yes, Erik."

"If we are suddenly in danger of being caught, you're on your own," he said sullenly. "You said yourself that Philippe wouldn't mind finding you there, so don't expect me to put myself at risk of being caught on your account."

She pushed a stray piece of hair out of her face and frowned as she gave another nod. He didn't have to be so rude about it.

He hesitated before adding in a softer voice, "When you see me tonight, I'll be wearing a- well, I will look... different."

He quickly turned away as though to pretend he had said anything at all in regards to his appearance.

"I will see you tonight," he said brusquely.

Antoinette rolled her eyes at his brooding demeanor, motioning for Christine to come with her as she made her way to the door.

"See you soon, Erik," Antoinette called back to him as the door closed.

Once at the Girys' house, Christine explained the situation to Meg.

"Oh, how exciting!" Meg clapped her hands together. "Just think - your first time sneaking into an actual house, and it's practically approved by law enforcement!"

"Meg!" Christine was scandalized.

"Well, it's true, isn't it?"

"Almost, I guess," she conceded. "I wouldn't particularly say either one of them _approve_ of my going along, though."

Meg helped her search through the closet and a trunk of clothes, looking for just the right outfit.

"So..." Meg began. "Does knowing that you won't get arrested take the fun out of it?"

Christine presses her lips into a thin line and leveled a glare at her friend.

"Just a little," she replied eventually. "But it's not like any of the other times, anyway - it's to look for clues to find Raoul."

She was quiet a moment, thinking of all the times she had _found herself_ in places she was not particularly supposed to be - midnight trips to the zoo with Raoul, early morning practices with Meg in the ballet room far before the sun was up or the doors officially unlocked, the occasional sneaking into the costume rooms to try on costumes she would certainly never get to wear on stage - none of them had been necessarily _right_ to do, but absolutely none of them had harmed anyone so she hadn't seen an issue with any of them. Yet in all of them, she had never snuck into someone's home before, a line she had never saw fit to cross, even if it was only Philippe's house, a place that was practically a second home to her.

She rolled her hair up into a bun, shoving pin after pin into it to keep it in place, and then adding a few more. The sweater she was wearing wasn't black, it was only navy blue, and she fretted over whether or not it would be up to Erik's standards, but it was the only dark colored clothing with long sleeves. The pants, also borrowed from Meg, had to be rolled up at the ankles, which she affixed with safety pins. She squirmed in them - it was such a different feeling than what she used to.

Meg leaned on the vanity table.

"Do you think you could steal me something from the Comte's house?"

"Meg!"

"Nothing _big_! Just _something_, you know? Just proof you were there," she gestured with her hand.

"I'm not stealing from the Comte just so you can have a token from my exploits!" Christine admonished, but the corners of her lips were quirking.

Meg stuck her tongue out at her.

"You're a terrible friend," but she was grinning too. "I would rob the Comte _blind_ for you, you know."

Once she had finished dressing and the appointed hour drew near, Madame Giry escorted her outside.  
Christine stood anxiously on the back porch, a single hanging lightbulb illuminating her and Madame, who stood next to her and waited. She peered out into the inky blackness, wondering how soon Erik would arrive. She shifted nervously from foot to foot as she caught glance of what seemed to be two points of light in the darkness, and frowned. Was it just a trick of the light? Some predator animal in the distance? Christine gave a small start when a shadow moved closer to her, but she tempered her reaction quickly, noting the Madame Giry didn't react at all.

Erik stood at the very edge of the lamplight, and he certainly looked... _different_. She realized he must have mentioned the change in the hopes of not startling her again - gone was his stark white mask, and in its place was a black one that covered every inch of his face except for where two shining yellow eyes peered out.

Those bright eyes held her in consideration for- she wasn't sure how long. She was too busy trying to focus on pressing down the unsettled nerves that were jumping around inside of her, to swallow the lump that had suddenly appeared in her throat - to avoid staring directly at that terrible mask.

Erik had never seen her wear pants before. He supposed it only made sense that she would wear them tonight - the horseback ride and sneaking about would certainly go much smoother in pants than a dress or skirt like she normally wore. But still - he had never seen her in pants before. It was such an odd sight, such an unexpected one. He had never really thought about her legs, he supposed. Obviously she _had_ legs, of course, but he had never had reason to _imagine_ them... They were short, but _she_ was short, so no surprise there. Her hips were wider than they had appeared before, and vaguely his mind registered that she must have always worn styles of skirts to disguise that, probably in some nonsense notion of hoping to appear thinner when there was nothing wrong in how she looked to begin with.

She cleared her throat and his eyes snapped up to her face, suddenly filled with guilt. He was only surprised to see her like that, that was all - it was like discovering that a favorite book had an extra chapter, or that a much-loved painting had more to it behind the frame - but he realized that to her he was simply a man gawking at her shapely legs, and that for all she knew he might have been having unsavory thoughts about them. For a brief moment he panicked that his gaze had made her uncomfortable, but there was no sign of such a feeling on her face - she only looked vaguely nervous.

"Are you ready?" his voice sounded slightly muffled coming from behind the molded mouth.

She gave a small nod, feeling oddly intimidated. In addition to the new mask, he seemed to wearing some sort of scarf that covered his neck and a hat. Every single part of him was covered in black, and it was no wonder that she hadn't noticed him until he was very close. He had been difficult to read before - but now it was impossible. Without those thin lips visible to give indication of a smirk or a frown, there was nothing left to discern any emotion from him, and she found that prospect unsettling. Still, she tried to push that thought from her mind as she attempted to focus on the task at hand.

He pulled slightly on the reins he was holding in a gloved hand, and a very large horse stuck its muzzle into the lamplight, it's face and neck somewhat visible but the rest of that glossy black coat causing it to blend in with the night air.

"This is Cesar," he murmured.

Christine stared dumbly. She'd never seen a horse so big, not up this close at least. But she supposed when it came down to it, she hadn't seen very many horses this close at all.

"Hold your hand out to him," Erik told her when he realized Christine had not only not ridden a horse before, but likely hadn't been around horses either. "Like this."

He demonstrated holding out a hand, fingers together and palm up. She copied his gesture, reaching up to the horse, who brought his face down and snuffled at her palm for a moment before trying to nip at her fingers. She just barely stifled a shriek as she jerked her hand back.

"Cesar," Erik admonished.

Cesar shook his head and Christine flinched slightly. Leave it to Erik to have the largest, most terrifying animal imaginable.

She clenched her fists. She wasn't going to let this- this _beast_ stand in her way of finding Raoul. She gathered her courage and held out her hand again, this time quickly flipping it over when he leaned in to sniff it, placing it on his forehead and petting gently before he had a chance to nip again. He twitched his ears and let her do so.

Erik silently cursed his fickle horse for destroying the last chance of leaving Christine behind, but then quickly repented when he remembered that it was his own fault anyway for bringing it up at all. Besides, he could never stay mad at Cesar.

"Because you don't know how to ride, you'll have to sit in the front," he led Cesar to put his side to Christine. "If you sit behind me and you end up falling off, you'll end up pulling me with you, too."

He motioned for her to stand next to Cesar's side, and then helped Christine up to sit across the animal's back. She sucked in a breath at being so high up.

"Just hold on to his mane and try not to fall off," he sounded slightly annoyed as he hoisted himself up with ease, sitting just behind Christine. "I'll steer us where we need to go. And don't squeeze your feet into his sides, either."

Christine had never ridden a horse before, it was true, but she had imagined that even with two people riding a horse there would have been _some_ room between the two riders. She quickly found she was wrong, and suddenly realized what, exactly, Erik's concern had been when he insisted that riding double was not an option.

She gripped her hands in Cesar's mane, knuckles turning white. How was she not supposed to squeeze her feet into the horse's sides? Without a saddle she found it extremely difficult to both hold on securely and not squeeze, which she assumed would goad to poor horse into going fast, and the very last thing she wanted to was go fast while being so far off the ground with only a few handfuls of hair to cling to in an attempt to not lose her balance.

"I expect to be gone around two hours, Antoinette. Watch for us back here around then."

"Do be careful, Christine," Antoinette said. "Stay safe."

"I will," she squeaked.

"What about me, Madame?" Erik asked. "Don't you want me to be safe as well? Are there no well wishes for me?"

Antoinette sighed wearily.

"Because if I tell you to 'be safe', I know you'll go do something dangerous just out of spite. But if you insist upon it... May your burglary be successful and may you live to complete numerous more offenses of breaking and entering," she waved a hand. "Now go."

Erik gripped the reins, his arms on either side of Christine. She was glad of the darkness hiding the color on her face. She briefly considered whether or not she should stay behind after all - not because she felt uncomfortable with him so close, but because perhaps _he_ was uncomfortable with the situation. But before she had a chance to say anything about it, they were suddenly off. Erik set the pace of a quick walk, eager to hurry and arrive at their destination - and end the ride - but not wanting to overtax Cesar.

Though she could see very little in the dark, everything she could see looked so different from such a higher vantage point. She tried to distract herself with the seemingly new sights, tried to ignore the feeling of him so close to her, the way her back was very nearly touching his chest. If he were almost any other person, she imagined, she'd be able to feel the warmth radiating from him - but just as she'd noticed that night he'd carried her, he seemed to lack any sort body heat and not for the first time she wondered why that was. With a start she realized that she was doing exactly what she trying to avoid doing - thinking of _Erik's body_, and hastily tried to think of something - _anything_ \- else. Perhaps that water fountain just over there that she'd never been tall enough to see the top of before- and Christine made the fatal mistake of twisting to look at it.

Erik watched in horror as she turned to look at something, suddenly tipping with no way to right herself. For the briefest of seconds her shoulders stiffened as she realized she was about to fall - and then his arm swiftly wrapped around her waist and pulled her upright. Her heart was pounding in her ears - she had been certain she was on the verge of falling and being seriously injured or worse - but before her mind could fully comprehend the situation, Erik was holding the reins in one hand and had her held tightly to himself with the other arm, his hand on her hip to keep her steady. He lowered his head till the mouth of the mask was level with her ear.

"Are you alright?" he whispered uncertainly.

Had he been wearing his white mask instead of the black one, she would have been able to feel his breath against her neck, and just the thought of it caused a shiver to ripple through her entire body - a shiver he unfortunately most definitely felt due to how he was holding her. Remembering his earlier command to not speak until they were back at the Girys', she vigorously nodded her head in reply to his question.

Erik frowned. She said she was fine, but he didn't understand why she was shivering. Was she cold? He didn't think it was that cold out, but he had never been the best at judging temperatures accurately. He left his arm around her, both to keep her from losing her balance again and also in the hopes that if she was cold, she would be able to warm a little with his cape around her.

Christine bit her lip and resigned herself to the rest of the ride with Erik's arm around her. She was going to have _the dreams_ again after this, she was certain of it. Not an entirely unpleasant concept, but an awkward one all the same.

After what seemed like ages to the both of them, they finally arrived at the Comte's home. Erik dismounted first, helping Christine down after. She staggered just a little on her first few steps, unused to being down so low once again, and her balance unsettled after the long ride. She could have sworn she still felt the ghost of Erik's arm around her, and she brushed her hands over her clothing as though cleaning dust off of them.

Erik tied Cesar's reins in a loose knot around the lower branches of a tree in the side yard. The horse stood patiently and Christine wondered if perhaps this was not the first burglary he had been an accessory to.

With a small hand motion he signaled for her to follow him up to the front door. Once in front of the gaudy ornate entrance, Erik reached into his coat to pull out a small, thin box that contained his lock picking tools. He was entirely surprised, however, when Christine stepped up to the door and calmly pulled a pin out from her hair, stuck it in her mouth to bite it into shape, and then gracefully jammed the pin into the lock. She gave it a few well practiced rattles and the door sprung open. His hands squeezed the little box of tools. He hadn't even had a chance to open them.

He followed her inside as though in a daze. Christine had seemed such a good girl - where and why has she learned how to pick locks like that?

He carefully closed the door behind them and watched as she began to steal upstairs without hesitation. He followed her, quickly catching up.

Once upstairs she turned left and made her way to a door near the end of the hallway. She pushed the door open and Erik followed her.

Raoul's room, he realized after glancing around.

The walls were covered in maps marked with pins, and Erik stopped to look at these for a moment. Christine began looking here and there for anything that might be of use, taking down his favorite books from the shelves and flipping though the pages, knowing he often kept important papers between the pages. She got down on her knees and looked under the bed, pulling out the small boxes he kept under there, looking in them but finding nothing out of the ordinary.

Erik pulled open the drawer on his nightstand, finding nothing but a well-worn Bible and a rosary. He raised an eyebrow.

Christine carefully put the boxes back under the bed once more and went to look in his closet, searching the insides of his shoes where she knew he hid small items.

Erik examined the contents of the large writing table. A number of letters, which he scanned over but they all seemed to contain only normal correspondences, although from what he could tell the boy was spending quite a lot on the opera house's repairs. There were a few newspapers, and beneath those were blueprints. Erik pulled them out, intrigued. They were the blueprints for the Opera Populaire, he realized, and then he realized something else about them that made him roll them up and tuck them away in his jacket for further study.

He peered into the closet, Christine giving him an apologetic look from where she sat on the floor turning his shoes upside down. He left her to her strange task and began to study the items on the shelf. A seashell, a gold heart shaped locket, an iron horseshoe, a faded and bent deck of cards, and a few small photographs in frames. The first was of a group of young men in uniforms, sitting around a table in a small room playing cards - presumably the deck on the shelf was one of them. The second was of a younger Raoul and Philippe standing in a garden, standing next to them were two young girls and an older woman - Erik decided this was likely a family portrait. The third picture was of a teenaged Raoul at the beach with a young Christine, his arms around her as she laughed, a long scarf wrapped around the both of them. Erik reached a hand out and almost touched the little image. Christine looked so young there, so happy. Her hair was being blown by the wind, wavy curls going every which way, the surf gently surging around their ankles. He felt a lump in his throat. Raoul knew her in ways he never could. In an odd fit of jealousy he very nearly took the little picture but instead he turned away from it and scolded himself for being ridiculous.

True to her word, Christine showed him every secret hiding place she knew of. A hidden room behind a bookcase that would have taken him ages to find, but it was disappointingly absent of any good clues or information.

Erik did, however, notice the wooden box on the table near the bottle of brandy. He hadn't forgotten the papers the Comte had looked at so strangely before stowing then away in the box the last time Erik had questioned him. He took the opportunity to open the box and found a letter inside. He picked it up and scanned it over - it was an invitation.

Christine came up beside him and stood on her tiptoes, trying to see what it was. He lowered it down for her to see.

An invitation to a secret masquerade party.

Christine raised an eyebrow at it before glancing up at Erik. That eerie black mask gave away nothing. He swiftly pulled a pencil and notebook from his jacket, scrawling down the details of the invitation before returning it to its box.

While he was busy writing, Christine had wandered away. In the next room she paused by the flower arrangement on the table, remembering Meg's words to her earlier. Feeling only a little guilty, she reached out and snapped a bloom off of a stem near the back where it hopefully wouldn't be noticed and quickly shoved it into her pocket. It was then that she saw a heavy vase up on a pedestal and recalled that one time Philippe had hid a very important letter that was addressed to Raoul inside. She lifted it carefully and tipped it over, peeking inside. Nothing. She sighed in disappointment, and started to place it back on the pedestal.

She didn't hear when Erik came into the room, or when he approached her. She didn't notice him at all as he looked over her shoulder into the vase. She did notice, though, when the edge of his cape brushed up against her as he turned to walk away from her and the empty vase, but she certainly hadn't been expecting _anything_ to touch her. She panicked, turning suddenly to see what or who was right next to her.

The vase slipped off the pedestal and smashed on the floor, the sound deafening after the endless silence that had preceded it.


	15. Chapter 15

Christine stared up at Erik with wide eyes, the shards and dust of the vase scattered around her feet.

She'd really gone and done it now, and she knew it.

But somewhere deep in her mind she felt a vague annoyance - if _he_ hadn't come up right behind her, his cape wouldn't have touched her and she wouldn't have gotten frightened, and she would have been able to put the vase back safely.

A tense moment stretched out in which everything was silent, and she held on to the foolish hope that perhaps no one had heard.

That hope was smashed just like the vase when a frightened voice came from the servants' quarters -

"Who's there?!"

Christine closed her eyes and exhaled sharply.

It was true that Philippe wouldn't have minded too much to find her in his home - a little confused and disturbed perhaps, but not angry or upset. That would have been _before_ the priceless vase had gotten smashed, however. Philippe awaking in the middle of the night to find Christine breaking his valuables was not a Philippe that she wanted to meet.

She opened her eyes to face her fate, expecting Erik to have already made his escape. She vividly recalled how annoyed he was when he told her that she would be on her own should they be about to get caught. To her surprise he was still there, his head tilting just slightly to the side as he looked down at her.

It has been only a moment, enough time for an inhale and an exhale and then suddenly his hand shot out and grabbed her arm just above the wrist before he quickly turned and ran out of the room, nearly dragging her with him.

Of all his many skills that had served him well over the years, the ability to memorize the layout of buildings was one that often came in handy. He used it now, not even needing a moment to remember which turns to take as he barreled through rooms and headed for the stairs, pulling Christine with him. It had been easy enough to say all of those things about leaving her behind when they were back in the office, but he found - with some small measure of surprise - that once it had actually happened he was unwilling to leave her.

She struggled to keep up with him, having to run to keep pace with his long strides. His grip on her arm was tight and insistent, but not cruel or bruising. She could hear the sounds of the servants finding the broken vase and raising a general fuss, and she was thankful that Erik had pulled her with him - if she had paused even a moment longer, she likely would have been caught.

But they weren't out of danger of being found just yet, she realized. The hallway they were running down was long, and they likely wouldn't make the end of it before one of the servants turned the corner to search this way. They might not get captured or stopped, but they would certainly be seen.

She stopped suddenly, grabbing Erik's arm with her other hand and pulling him back. So intent on fleeing, he suddenly stopped with such force that she was nearly knocked off her feet, but she managed to hold her footing and pulled him back several steps towards the way they had just come from.

Erik didn't understand, she could see it in his eyes, but she pointed to a panel in the carved wood decorating the walls of the hallway. He still didn't understand, but followed her as she turned towards the wall.

Erik heard voices in his head screaming at him - they were surely about to be caught, even more certainly now that Christine had stopped him, and he was beginning to grow concerned over that. But in the split second decision between following where she wanted to lead and simply throwing her over his shoulder and continue to run, he chose to trust her. Surely a girl who knew how to pick locks that well also knew better than to run _towards_ her would-be captors... right?

With the press of a button that was hidden in the intricate carving, a portion of the wood panel swung outwards like a door. She quickly hurried inside of it, and Erik stooped as low he could to follow. Once he was in she swiftly closed the door - and not a moment too soon, as they could hear the servants shouting as they continued their search into the hallway.

Christine closed her eyes and cursed herself. She knew this little room so well, there was nothing in there to be afraid of - if one had a lantern or other light source. And although her rational mind knew it was utter nonsense, a small part of her still felt there would always be _something_ in the dark to fear. Her eyes flew open, but it made no difference. She swallowed hard and tried to imagine the little room just as it was all those years ago when she and Raoul would hide in it from his tutors when he didn't want to do his lessons. They had placed a very small table in it, and two stools to sit upon, and there was only just enough room for two people to stand beside it. Perhaps if her thoughts were consumed with the happier times spent here, playing cards or drawing pictures, then perhaps she could ignore the sinister air it held now, the way the darkness pressed in on every corner, but her hopes were of no avail.

"Is there a light in here at all?" came the faint whisper from the shadows.

"No," it was barely spoken, just a breath from her lips.

She wondered for a moment if he was having the same problem as her with darkness, but then there was a faint rustle and then his ragged breaths turned to deeper - if still slightly odd sounding - intakes of air, and she realized that the mask he was wearing likely impeding his breathing while he was running. Her eyes flicked up to where his face would be, but there was nothing at all to see in the thick darkness.

They could hear the servants approach and then begin to fade away as they passed the hidden cabinet.

She bit her lip. She wanted so badly to reach out to him, just to touch his arm or his hand to remind herself that she wasn't alone in the terrifying inky blackness, but she didn't want to try to touch him while he was presumably holding his mask - what if she startled him and he dropped it? It would make a noise, or possibly even break. She refrained from touching him, instead wringing her hands in an attempt to get relief from the anxiety.

Erik's hands shook as he lifted his mask up. It felt wrong, so very wrong, to expose his face so near to Christine, even if she couldn't see it. But the small holes in the nose of the mask and the thin opening of a mouth on the molded plaster were simply not large enough to get enough air through. He tried to take as deep of breaths as he could, trying to prepare himself for the next mad dash they would need to make after this. When his breathing became more even, he placed the mask back on and made certain that the scarf was tucked in properly so that none of him could be seen.

The servant voices grew louder once more. Having searched down the hallway and finding nothing, they were returning to tell Philippe - who was presumably hiding in his room - of the apparent lack of intruders despite the broken vase.

Christine waited until she couldn't hear anymore footsteps even with her ear pressed against the door, and then she counted to twenty in her mind before reaching to open the door once more.

"Christine, wait," Erik's voice was barely audible. "Are there more rooms we need to search?"

Christine shot a perturbed glare into the shadows. He still wanted to search, after this?

"There's just a few rooms, but we saw most of them already."

"Do you think we can get to them,or will they be too on guard now for us to sneak by?"

She shook her head, then realized he couldn't see her.

"No. I think we should leave."

She reached for the door again.

"Christine-"

She jerked her hand back from the door.

"What?" she hissed.

"Remember what I told you about no talking until we return to the Girys'," he whispered.

She could hear the frown of disapproval in his voice and she rolled her eyes it.

Unlatching the door, they both stepped through as quietly as they could. The door closed with barely a click, and they began to swiftly walk down the hallway once more, trying to keep their steps as silent as possible.

They hadn't gone very far before Erik began to realize something - taking his mask off in the closet had been a _terrible_ idea. It had been quite dusty in the closet, and he had breathed quite deeply. He had, it seemed, accidentally breathed in dust.

He only had enough warning time to place a hand up against his mask to keep it from falling off before, much to his chagrin and disgust, he sneezed.

Christine stopped and turned to gape at him with horror.

The frightened servants could be heard raising a fuss yet again, and Erik once more grabbed ahold of Christine's hand and began to run.

She managed to keep the pace with him as they went down the stairs - in consideration of her, he had to take each individual step at a time instead skipping steps, something he knew that he could manage easily but would cause her to fall. Once at the bottom of the steps however, he dashed to the door with such a speed that Christine was afraid they would crash into it. He managed to keep them from doing so, instead wrenching the door open and pushing Christine through before pulling the door closed behind them. Now free of his grip, Christine kept running on her own to Cesar. Erik quickly caught up and dropped to one knee by Cesar's side, using his hands to form a step for Christine. He boosted her up and quickly jumped up beside her, pulling the reins fee from the branch and gripping them tightly in one hand as his other arm went around Christine once more.

Her pulse was pounding in her ears, and she buried one hand in Cesar's mane and tightly held to Erik's forearm with the other. It hurt to breathe - she hadn't run that fast since she didn't know when. Everything had been going so slow back in the house - and then it had all happened much too fast. It was dizzying, and now that Cesar, sending the urgency in his riders, was going as fast he could with two people, it also felt terribly exciting. Christine wondered if this was what criminals felt like all time, and if so it was no surprise that crime was on the rise - it had been quite a rush. Now that she had a moment to catch her breath and actually think once again, she noted that for all of his manhandling of her in the heat of the moment, he had taken exceptional care not to hurt her.

Erik listened carefully for any sound of being followed and heard nothing. With every passing moment that they fled the scene of their crime and no one seemed to know it was them, his grin grew wider under the mask. How like his younger days, he mused to himself, yet with absolutely nothing to feel guilty over. In his haste to escape detection, he didn't even have room for any of the kinds of thoughts that had plagued him on ride there. Whereas before he was consumed with utter absurdity his life had become - _him_, of all people, holding opera star Christine Daaé in such an awfully intimate way, as they went on their way to commit a _crime_ \- his arm around her middle, holding her so closely against him in a manner that he was certain most other men would _kill_ to experience with her, yet all he could feel was awkward embarrassment at the situation (and of course it was entirely his own fault they were even in such a situation) - now, now there was only room in his mind for calculations of how much distance they'd need to put between themselves and the house before anyone would be able to catch up, and for the strange thrill of danger rushing in his veins.

When he finally decided they had reached a safe distance he pulled on the reins and Cesar slowed to a more manageable pace, snorting and shaking his head.

By the time they had turned onto the back road that would lead to Antoinette's house, Christine had firmly decided that she was _not_ apologizing for the vase, that Erik shared in at _least_ half of the blame, and that was just fine by her. Still, nervousness began to bubble up in her as they approached the backyard. Would Erik blame her for spoiling the investigation? Would he be mad at her for alerting the household that someone was there?

She was afraid her worries were confirmed by his utter silence as they entered the yard and he slid off of Cesar before reaching up and helping her down. Madame Giry was already on the back porch, waiting for them. Still Erik was silent as they drew closer to the light. Christine pressed her lips into a thin line. She could just tell he was about to launch into a tirade about how he knew better than to bring her, about how she ruined the entire thing just like he said she would-

"How did it go?" Madame Giry asked.

"Oh, it went just fine, Madame."

Christine glanced up him, surprised. That dark honeyed voice held no trace of sarcasm, betrayed nothing beyond a trip that apparently 'went fine'. Was he not going to say anything, then?

Antoinette narrowed her eyes. He never called her 'Madame' unless something was going on or he was hiding something. And his eyes were bright - _much too bright_. If she could see his mouth, there would surely be a terrible smirk there. She quickly looked to Christine, but the young woman merely nodded, supporting his claim.

"Erik," Antoinette said firmly. "Are you certain everything went well?"

"Good heavens, woman, do you not trust my judgment?"

Antoinette answered with only a raise of an eyebrow.

"Besides," he brushed his hands off on his jacket, avoiding her eye. "I said it went _fine_, not _well_."

He cleared his throat and turned before she could ask what difference was.

"I will see you both tomorrow," he gave a quick nod to both of them before he grabbed Cesar's reins and led him back into the darkness.

Antoinette sighed wearily and rubbed at her temples. Nothing could induce a headache like that man.

She ushered Christine into the house once more.

"My dear, did everything go alright?"

Christine took a moment to consider the question. In her opinion it most definitely did not go right - but hadn't Erik done those kinds of things so many times before, while this was her first trip of the kind? Surely he would know if it went well or not? It didn't feel exactly like lying - and if it was, well, she was only following Erik's lead in it all. She was merely trusting Erik's judgement in this matter - if Erik wasn't trustworthy, that was hardly her own fault.

"I think it went fine," she offered.

Madame Giry nodded, accepting her answer.

"Well, you've had a long day even so. Off to bed with you, dear."

Christine bid her goodnight and started up the staircase to her shared room. She couldn't help but smile when she saw Meg's eager face at the top.

Meg grabbed her arm and practically dragged her into their room before quickly slamming the door.

"What happened? What happened?"

Christine hesitated a moment, then reached into her pocket and pulled out the now slightly crushed flower. She handed it to her friend, who jumped up and down and squealed.

"Christine! You robbed the Comte for me! Oh, I love you!"

Christine put her hands over her face and groaned.

"Meg! Keep it down! Your mother will hear you!" she glanced back at the door before lowering her own voice. "Oh, Meg - that wasn't all I did. I might have also _accidentally_ smashed a very expensive vase, too."

Meg cackled at this.

"Was it loud? Did they hear?"

"It was. They did," she blushed.

Meg's eye lit up.

"How expensive was the vase, anyway?"

"Oh, it was _priceless_."

"You're my hero, Christine," Meg sighed.

Christine giggled. The Comte had become somewhat of an enemy to all of the ballet girls after a particularly disastrous date with La Sorelli, and Meg had never forgiven him for his boorish manners towards the lead dancer.

They continued to talk as she changed out of the pants and into her nightgown. She found her tale didn't even need any embellishment to garner gasps and squeaks and breathless "and then what happened?" as she told her about the quick escape they had found necessary to make. They stayed up so late, in fact, that both of them were having to stifle yawns the next morning as they sat wearily on the couch in Madame's office.

Erik, dressed impeccably as always, didn't look at all like he had been up all night committing a crime, and Christine, who wanted nothing more than to go back to bed, eyed him with jealousy. She'd barely had the energy to pin her hair up without bothering to brush it, yet here he had managed to look _more_ than presentable and had made tea for them all as well.

How dare he, she thought to herself as she sipped her tea.

She studied him with curiosity as he stood to the side of the desk, absorbed in reading Antoinette's notes on the missing child case, not noticing in the least how her eyes lingered on him.

What _was_ under that mask? Whatever it was, it must be something rather terrible, she decided, for him to go to such lengths to hide it. She thought back on previous night, how he had asked if there was the possibility of any light in the room before he had removed the mask. She stared for a long time at the hints of red, scarred skin that could be seen around his eye and the side of his jaw. He was wearing a high collared shirt with a fancifully tied cravat as he nearly always did, but even so an occasional movement would reveal that his neck was not unblemished. She wondered if the rest of him was mottled with such marks as well, and if perhaps it was the result of an injury or if he was born like that - and then she wondered which would be worse, to have had his life so horrifically and irrevocably altered in an instant, or to have grown up from infancy with something that set him so far apart from all other children.

She was pulled from her thoughts by the racket going on in the hallway. All four people in the room glanced up towards the door as whoever was throwing such a fit drew closer.

"-of all the unmitigated _gall_\- it's just simply! It boggles the mind that anyone would do such a thing!" Philippe's voice was now recognizable just seconds before the door flew open.

"Yes, sir, I agree completely-" a man who looked nearly sick with nerves stood beside him and nodded, and Christine recognized him as one of his servants.

Philippe now ignored the man beside him and strode over to the desk Antoinette was sitting behind. His eyes darted between her and Erik, finally coming to rest on the latter as he drew himself up to his full height and loudly and angrily announced with all the offended dignity he could muster -

"My house has been burgled!"


	16. Chapter 16

Christine felt her blood run cold, and she looked to Meg with wide eyes, who hurriedly hid the stolen flower from Philippe's house that she had been toying with. Antoinette looked at Erik with the most indecipherable expression - not surprise, for she certainly wasn't surprised at this, no, it was more a look of indignation.

Erik stood up smoothly without missing beat.

"Burgled? My good Comte, please have a seat - we must get get to the bottom of this most heinous crime that has been perpetrated against you!"

Philippe sat down smugly, finally pleased that he was being taken seriously.

Erik pulled out a notepad and poised his pencil for taking down everything he said.

"Did you get a good look at this fiend?" Erik asked seriously, and Christine nearly choked.

Philippe frowned.

"Well, no, I didn't. I heard the commotion and naturally I rushed out to accost to this- this vagabond, but the devil had already escaped."

Christine squirmed on the couch, shooting Meg an incredulous look. Philippe hadn't run out to see anything, he'd let his servants see what the matter was.

"Already escaped?" Erik was scribbling notes down fast. "That bastard. Tell me, what did this worthless excuse of a person steal?"

"Ah-"

"Cash?"

"Well, no-"

"Your carriages, your horses?"

"No, not them-"

"Jewelry, perhaps? I'm sure you have a great deal of fine jewels just laying about, very temping."

Erik himself had seen a few a pieces of jewelry that had been very tempting indeed, and they were in fact just laying about.

Philippe scratched his head.

"No..."

"Fine art, perhaps? Books? Furniture?"

"I mean, no, he didn't steal of any of that..."

Erik gasped.

"Good heavens, man - he stole all the food from the kitchen? It's been known to happen," he nodded gravely.

Philippe shifted around in his chair.

"My _vase_, you see, he smashed my vase. It's shattered."

Erik stared at him, unblinking.

"He stole your vase?" he asked flatly.

"_No_, I said he _broke_ it."

Erik folded the notepad and tapped it a few times with his pen before he threw both down on the desk.

"I'm sorry," he said, and the realization dawned on Philippe that Erik had, in fact, been mocking him this entire time. "I thought you said your house had been _burgled_. Allow me to make a book recommendation, Monsieur le Comte, it's called _the dictionary_."

Philippe flinched, scowling.

"Well are you going to find the brute who did this or not?"

"You want me to find someone who, let me get this straight, broke into your house not to steal anything, but to simply smash your vase and flee. With no description of the person, no clues to go on, just- just _find_ this random person that may or may not exist?"

"Oh, he exists! How else did the vase get broken?"

Erik shrugged.

"How many servants do you have? Is it not possible that an accident occurred? Do you have any small pets, perhaps? An inquisitive creature might have toppled it while exploring," a smirk grew across his mouth. "Good Heaves, Comte, a _Ghost_ could have knocked it over."

He leaned against the desk and crossed his arms, making eye contact with a very nervous Christine.

"A little songbird might have flown in and tipped it off its stand," he continued.

Christine turned her head and frowned, unable to stand those yellow, knowing eyes upon her.

"I'd take any of those stories as more believable than what you're proposing," he finished. "Who breaks in for the sole purpose of smashing some vase?"

Philippe glared at Antoinette as though this were all her fault somehow. She gave him a glare right back.

"I'm afraid I can't really help you," Erik shrugged nonchalantly and began walk slowly around the room. "Unless, that is, perhaps there is more to this all, and there's something you're not telling us, something regarding your brother, perhaps..."

Philippe pressed his lips together.

Erik regarded him in silence for a moment from behind him. He _knew_ this man knew more than he was letting on, and it infuriated him.

"It must have been an amazing vase," Erik said innocently. "You came all this way just for it. Why, I recall when the little Vicomte was kidnapped, you couldn't even be bothered to put in an appearance."

"Now you wait just a minute!" Philippe jumped out of his chair, spinning to face Erik. "I came down here to get some answers from _you_ about what's going on! Do you think if I already knew what was going on that I'd be down here?"

"My good Monsieur," Erik said suddenly, his eyes glittering. "You must forgive me. I have forgotten myself. You are quite right - your house has been broken into, and it should be searched for clues."

"That's more like it," Philippe huffed, and suddenly he caught sight of Meg and Christine in the corner.

"Ahh," Philippe said, his anger fading and being replaced by a strange, overeager curiosity. "Little Meg, and dear Christine... I did not see you both there... I trust you girls are well... Is, ah, how is Sorelli?"

He tried his best to look nonchalant.

"Oh," said Meg. "She's quite fine, actually. She met the most handsome man a few weeks ago."

"Did she?" Philippe looked wistful.

"Yes, she said how nice it was to finally finally have someone who know how to treat her right, _unlike some people_."

The blood drained from Philippe's face at Meg's words, and he slumped in his chair, disappointed.

"Oh," he said, and then turned back to Erik. "Oh, I see... Well- well see here, what about my house? Aren't you going to search it?"

"We shall go at once," Erik nodded. "Please go wait in your carriage, I will be out in just a moment."

Philippe and his servant left the office, and once they were far enough off, Erik turned to Christine.

"The rooms we weren't able to search last night - are there any secret hiding places in them that I should know about?"

She shook her head.

"No, not that I know of."

"Good, excellent."

His eyes held a gleam that nearly frightened her.

"Erik," Antoinette said cooly. "I thought you told me it 'went fine' last night?"

A grin spread across what was visible of his face.

"Oh, it went better than fine, now - it went better than I could have planned!"

And with that he turned and strode out the door as Antoinette sighed wearily. The door closed with a click, and she turned her gaze to Christine, who hurriedly buried her face in a magazine.

Erik could barely hide the terrible grin on his face as he rode to the de Chagny mansion. To think, he was going to get to throughly search the house for clues, and all because he had broken in and scared the Comte in the middle of the night! He would have to remember this strategy for the future.

He searched up and down the mansion, even going over places he had looked the previous night. Philippe followed anxiously behind, wringing his hands, until finally Erik turned towards him.

"Monsieur," he said sharply. "I must focus on my work. You are distracting me."

Philippe started and left the room, and Erik didn't see him again until just before he was ready to return to his office. He hadn't felt distracted by Philippe so much as annoyed, but the principle was the same.

He returned to the office a few hours later looking somewhat defeated.

"Did you find anything?" Antoinette asked he hung his coat on the hook near the door.

He shook his head and shrugged.

"As it stands, the most I could find came from last night - that secret masquerade party coming up. But it's not for a while."

"Masquerade?" Christine asked, and Erik eyed her warily.

"It's of no interest to you, Christine," he told her, and turned back to Antoinette.

Christine frowned. Of course it was of interest to her if it was about Raoul!

"Are you going to stake it out?" Antoinette fidgeted with a pen.

"Yes, most likely. Unless something comes up before then," Erik sat down on the couch as though he hadn't noticed either girl on either side of him.

Christine scooted back to give him room, hoping her face wasn't noticeably pink due his proximity. Meg however, chose to roll up her magazine and swat at him, refusing to vacate her seat.

"I was sitting there, you oaf!" she hissed through her teeth.

He grabbed the magazine from her hand and threw it back on the table.

"I live here," he said matter-of-factly.

"My mother owns the building!"

"Your mother rents the building," he scoffed.

"And you rent it from her! Move!" she shoved at his shoulder.

"Move from my couch? I think not."

"Erik!"

"You are a guest in my home, Marguerite."

"Mother!"

"You only live in the upstairs, Erik," Antoinette chimed in.

Erik retaliated by pushing Meg off the couch, only to tighten his grip on her arm at the last second and pull her back up.

"There is enough room," he insisted over her shrieks. "If you would just sit _sensibly_ and not _sprawl_ in such a manner. Look, Christine is having no such problem."

He glance to his left, where Christine was pressed to the armrest and covering her mouth a hand, trying to suppress her giggles.

"That's because Christine is too much of a lady to punch you," Meg huffed as she resettled herself on the couch.

"Alas," Erik sighed.

Antoinette crumpled up the paper she had been writing notes on and threw it at Erik. It bounced off of his mask and he pretended he didn't notice.

"How am I supposed to get any work done with you three around?" she chided, but the corners of her lips were curved into a grin. "At least I'll be able to hear myself think tomorrow."

Christine's smile slowly faded. Tomorrow Erik would be watching her. She was a little uncertain still. Yes, it was fun and laughter now, but that was largely because Meg was there - how would it be with just her and Erik? Would he finally be cross with her about bungling the burglary? Surely they wouldn't be able to joke together like he did with Meg - they'd known each other for a decade. She wondered if he'd ignore her like he had so many other times.

She felt a little nervous the next day as Antoinette dropped her off at the office before she left for field work. Erik merely glanced at her and nodded. He was busy writing something down on a notepad.

She watched him for a long moment in silence.

"Erik," she finally said. "I think I would like to go to the masquerade too. To look for Raoul."

He glanced up again, annoyed.

"No," he said firmly.

"But-"

"I said no, Christine. It's entirely out of the question," he snapped, and she flinched and looked away.

He sighed.

"I'm- I'm not mad at you, Christine, so you can stop looking like that... It's only that I'm in charge of making certain that you're safe," he softened his voice. "And it's not safe for you at that party. I think that whoever took Raoul and whoever threatened you will be there and it's not safe for you to go. Do you understand?"

She nodded slowly. She understood. That didn't mean she had agree, though.

"Well... We have a show coming up soon... Do you mind if I practice a little? I can go in the basement to do so, if you'd rather."

Erik looked up from his work, startled.

"No, no - not the basement. Please, sing up here if you must."

He would surely die of embarrassment if she ever saw those songs he had written both for and about her.

Christine opened her mouth to say that Madame had let her sing in the basement, but then she wisely chose to withhold that information.

"Okay," she paced the room a little, beginning to run through her warmups.

When she felt sufficiently warmed up, she began to practice the song from the upcoming show. It was just a single song, a small benefit gala the company would be putting on for one night only, and Christine had been honored to be offered the chance to perform at it. It felt like a huge opportunity - and unfortunately it also felt like a huge burden. She wanted to sing at it - but she didn't feel ready. Her voice kept cracking at a certain spot where it never used to crack before, and the more she fretted over it the more it seemed to crack.

She placed a hand over her throat after botching it a third time. She was going to do the exact same thing on stage, she just knew it, and then she wouldn't be offered anything past what her current contract required, maybe she would never land another contract again, maybe this was it, the height of her career, her best days behind her, her only dream finally dashed and shattered-

"You're holding too much tension in your neck and jaw," Erik said.

She whirled around to face him.

"What?"

"I said you're too tense - your neck, your jaw, well, everywhere really. If you relax you won't crack like that."

"I know that," she felt petulant. She couldn't decide if he was truly trying to help her or if he was being condescending and patronizing - she hadn't asked for his help.

"Sometimes we need reminders of things we already know," he shrugged a little.

She rolled her shoulders and took a deep breath in and out, then started the song again.

She went past the part she had been having difficulty with flawlessly - and then hit a sour note a few seconds later.

The only sound was the scritch of the pen on the notepad for a long moment, but Erik's mind was working overtime.

She had a gorgeous voice, talented and well trained, but she was just a little rough around the edges. He had no doubt that she knew it, that she also knew in theory what she needed to do to correct it - but putting something into practice instead of merely knowing it was an entirely different scenario.

Christine chewed at her thumbnail, brow furrowed. She let her hand drop and cleared her throat.

"Erik," she asked meekly.

He looked up from the notepad.

She hesitated before pushing on.

"Do you have any advice?"

He dropped the pen and stood up from the desk, and came around to where she was standing.

"You're quite capable of this piece, Christine," he said kindly. "I've heard enough of your singing before to know that for certain - your work in Faust certainly proved that."

Her heart did a flip. He _had_ come to see her in Faust.

"But," he continued. "It is also clear that you are facing difficulty with this song that should easily be within your reach. Not from lack of skill - it is merely your nerves getting to you. A completely understandable situation, considering all you're going through at the moment. Would you like to talk about it? Perhaps once you get your worries out in the open they will no longer haunt your voice in such a manner."

He ushered her to the couch and she felt a flood of relief pour through her. How different from that voice tutor in England, she mused, the one who, despite being excellent in teaching skills, would always mock and deride any hint of nerves or anxiousness, which only made her all the more nervous about it. She hadn't stayed with that tutor very long for that reason, but the effects of his mockery still lingered. Even now she could hear his voice in the back of her head - _if you can't get a handle on your nerves now in this old room, how will you ever handle them on stage with hundreds of people staring at you? You wouldn't be nervous if you'd done your homework so clearly you must not be practicing enough. Maybe singing isn't for you, after all?_

He sat down with her, keeping a reasonable but still personable distance between them.

She still couldn't read his face, not exactly, but his posture and eyes spoke of sympathy and concern. She sighed.

"This sounds so silly," she looked away.

He smirked.

"Well, I promise I won't laugh."

She worried at her lip with her teeth a moment.

"I'm afraid," she started. "I'm afraid that I'll get abducted up on stage. Right in the middle of my song. One minute I'll be singing, and the next some awful man is grabbing me and dragging me off stage, and the audience starts screaming and- oh," she groaned and placed her hands over her face. "It's ridiculous, isn't it?"

Erik chose his words quite carefully.

"The thought that I would let someone do that to you is a little ridiculous, perhaps - but clearly the effect the thought is having on you is not."

She blinked and removed her hands. She hadn't been expecting him to say anything like that.

"I would never allow harm to come to you, Christine. Surely... surely you trust me in that regard, at least?"

She looked up at him. He looked vaguely uncomfortable, his arms crossed and unable to meet her gaze. Something softened in her chest as she realized that he was afraid she didn't trust him _at all_.

"I do," she hesitated before continuing softly. "I trust you in very many regards, I think."

He nodded, his face feeling warm under the mask.

"So," he said. "What can we do to help put these worries from your mind?"

She thought a moment.

"It's alright. I'm sure you're busy with work."

"No, of course not. I am at your service, Christine - if there's anything I can do to help you prepare for your show, please tell me."

"Why? Why would you do that for me?"

"Your voice is a gift," he fidgeted with his hands, feeling like a schoolboy confessing his love to his first crush. "I've never heard anything quite like it. It's exquisite."

She turned away, hoping he wouldn't see how red her face had become. She felt like jumping up and down and squealing. Oh, Meg was going to hear about this.

"Were you a singer?" she asked eagerly, suddenly.

He was taken aback.

"In a sense," he finally settled on saying.

He had sung in the traveling circus as a child, but that was not something he wanted to tell her about - that was not something he wanted to tell _anyone_ about, how he would throw his voice and make the flowers around his little coffin appear to sing before he sprang up and frightened the audience with his face, confusing them with his heavenly song coming from the throat of a monster.

"Your voice is quite good, too," she picked at her sleeves a little, suddenly shy. "When I heard it before, I mean. When we first- well, before we first met."

Erik grimaced. He still remembered that awful, botched first meeting.

"I'd love to hear it again sometime," she pressed, growing bolder.

"Is that so?" he chuckled. "I would much rather hear _you_, Christine. Come now, try your song again."

He coaxed her into standing up, and she brushed out her skirt and cleared her throat, a little flustered. It felt so good to be able to discuss singing with a singer. Were they nearly friends now? She hoped so.

"Lower your shoulders," he murmured as he circled around her.

She lowered them.

"Lift your chin a little - like this this," a single gloved finger gently tilted her chin up. "Now sing."

She launched into her song, and truly seemed to be doing better - until about two thirds the way through, where she hit another bad note. They both frowned.

"What do you think the matter is?" he asked - he had opinions of his own, but he wanted hers.

"I'm too stuck inside my own head," she sighed. "I hear my own voice and focus on that, and then suddenly I'm so focused on making sure it's right that I get it wrong."

He debated himself for a long moment, but eventually the desire to continue hearing her voice won out.

"Christine," he said presently. "What you need is music. Come."

He walked over the basement door and opened it, hoping he wasn't making a mistake. He paused there before turning to her and stretching out his hand. She reached out to take it, and he led her down the stairs into the barely lit darkness of the basement. There was only a single, very small light bulb to light the entire room, and it made everything look a dull shade of grey, cloaked in shadows. He gave the barest of glances at the bookshelf, making certain his hidden compositions were in fact still hidden, and then he sat down at the organ bench.

He began to play a few bars - he wasn't certain how her song was going to start musically, but he had heard her sing it through enough times to have memorized the basic structure enough to play her accompaniment through the rest of it. He stopped playing.

"You will focus only on the music," he told her. "You will _feel_ the music, and there will be no room for any thoughts or anxiety - all there will be is music."

She nodded obediently, excited about what was about to happen.

He began playing the intro.

"Two more counts of eight," he told her. "Then you come in."

He glance over at her.

"Close your eyes, Christine."

She closed them.

"Sing!"

She sang. She sang perfectly, without hitting any wrong notes or cracking. She reached the end, her voice and the notes of the organ echoing off into silence, and she opened her eyes in disbelief. She had always felt some level of nerves while practicing before, but this - this had had the same floating sensation she always felt when she performed on stage. She truly hadn't been thinking of anything, simply had gotten lost in the music as it wrapped around her and joined her voice. She could scarcely believe it.

"Erik!" she clapped her hands over her mouth in disbelief.

He chuckled.

"You see? You were capable all along."

She sat heavily in the chair that was near the organ, still reeling from her performance.

Erik felt like every cell in his body was buzzing. He was exhilarated and terrified at the same time - he hadn't played for anyone since Persia. He hadn't expected to ever play for anyone again. And yet-

Christine leaned forward in her chair.

"Okay," she said, grinning. "Now I get to hear you sing."

His face fell.

"What? No."

"Come on, Erik," she cajoled. "It's only fair - you've heard me singing for over half an hour now. I want to hear you... Please?"

How could he say no to those pretty blue eyes?

He turned back to the organ, his fingers lightly falling on top of keys without making a single sound. He still had his reservations. Could he really do that again? Put himself out there like that? Singing was so personal to him. There had been a time he had wanted nothing more than to share his music with the world, but those days had long since passed.

"A duet," she offered. "We could sing a duet, if you're feeling a little shy."

He looked up at her hopefully.

"A duet?"

She nodded, smiling.

"Yes, which one?"

"Any," the word was barely a whisper.

"How about Romeo and Juliet? Do you know that one?"

He nodded slowly, his brain trying to catch up. She sprang up from her chair and stood beside him. How he could play with those gloves on, she would never know, but she thought he played beautifully even still.

He began the intro for their duet (she thought it sounded a little odd on an organ, but he managed to make it sound elegant all the same), and she started off.

Soon enough Erik joined her in song. He felt tongue-tied and awkward (imagine - him! Singing with Christine Daaé!), but she thought his voice was perfection. It was rich and warm, almost decadent. It felt like silk against her very soul, and she shivered.

Their voices twined together and he thought that there could be no higher pinnacle of his life - if he died in that very moment, he would consider his life complete. He had sung so very many times before, occasionally he had sung with other people as well, but none of them, absolutely none of those other times had held this level of intimacy, this amount of soul-baring vulnerability. He didn't dare look her in the eye lest he find that for her, this was just another song with just another singer. It was so much more to him - his very muse, right there beside him, their voices wrapping in what might as well be an embrace.

She very nearly stopped short, mesmerized by his vocals, but to cease to hear how her own voice sounded next to his was the very last thing she ever wanted. She pushed on, and reached the end, and as he finished his last verse and played the notes out, she brought her hands to her face once more.

Erik let the last few notes linger on for more than they should have, but stopped suddenly when he realized there were tears running down Christine's face. His shoulders stiffened - had he done something wrong?

She had sat down again on the chair, too overwhelmed by the childhood memories that had come rushing back, by the story that she hadn't thought of in ages.

"Oh," she softly through her tears as she gazed at him. "Oh, you're the Angel of Music."


	17. Chapter 17

Eight year old Christine Daaé huddled closer to her father as he stopped near an alley to talk to an old woman. When they had been shopping in the market not too long ago, she had known why he was buying an extra loaf of bread, but she hadn't known who it was for. She held tight to his hand and hid her face behind his arm - the old woman frightened her. Her face was weather-worn and wrinkled, and her hair was messy and her clothes were patched - she looked just like the witch in one of her storybooks.

She glanced up at her Papa, who was smiling and talking to the woman as though nothing were out of the ordinary about her and Christine felt a small pang of guilt for how she felt. Nothing ever seemed to scare Papa, and she hoped that one day she could be brave like him.

Their talk was mostly tuned out by her as her impatient young mind wandered to topics other than whatever her Papa was telling the woman about - little Christine had no interest in Gustave Daaé's conversation with the lady who might actually be a witch. All she wanted was to be home once again in the little cottage, out of the bitter wind that was chilling her. She briefly wondered if the beggar woman was cold too, if she had a place to stay warm during the night, but then a great black bird landed nearby and caught her eye, causing her thoughts to wander once more.

She felt a tug on her hand and distantly heard Papa and the woman exchanging goodbyes, and she pulled her focus away from the bird. They were walking down the street once more, and Gustave finally noticed the way his daughter's brow was furrowed.

"Christine," he asked gently. "What's the matter? Are you afraid that crow is going to follow you?"

"No, Papa!" she cried. "I'm not afraid of birds anymore!"

Even so, she quickly glanced behind her to maker certain the huge bird wasn't following her.

"You're not? Since when?" he teased her.

She jutted her chin out.

"Since last week."

"Oh my, I see," he nodded. "Because you turned eight last week?"

"Yes," she agreed, glad that he always understood her so well. "I'm a big girl now, and I'm not afraid of birds anymore... Even though they can be really scary sometimes," she added solemnly.

"Of course. So nothing is wrong, then?"

She hesitated, embarrassed, but Papa never made her feel like she was silly for how felt.

She felt silly all the same.

"That old lady," she started, uncertain. "She looked..."

Christine ducked her head.

"She looked like a witch," she whispered.

Gustave couldn't help but smile.

"Did she? Well, I suppose she did," he said.

Christine looked up, surprised.

"Weren't you scared of her, Papa? What if she really was a witch?" she scooted closer to him, suddenly fearing that the witch would send a crow after her.

"No, I wasn't scared," he glanced down at her. "But it's normal to be frightened, sometimes. That's okay. But I think she's just an old lady who's had a difficult life."

"Really?"

"Really. Remember before we could afford the cottage? How hard it was to always stay looking nice?"

She nodded. She remembered very well. There had been a great deal of times that they, too, had to sleep out in the cold.

"I'm sure there were times we looked like trolls!" he smiled, and Christine giggled.

"Papa, no!"

"Yes, Christine! Like trolls who lived under bridges and ate little children!" he lowered his voice to monster-like growl and scooped Christine up into his arms.

She squealed with laughter as he spun her around before setting her back down.

"But we weren't trolls, were we?"

She shook her head, grinning.

"Even though we looked like them?" he pressed.

"No, Papa - we were just Christine and you. Even if we looked like nasty trolls," she wrinkled her nose.

"Exactly," he nodded decisively. "Sometimes people can look scary on the outside, but they're just like you or me on the inside."

Christine considered this.

"That old lady is probably just like us," she said, then suddenly looked up at Papa, worried. "Do you think she has somewhere to stay tonight? Not out in the cold, surely?"

He smiled, and patted her shoulder.

"She has a place to stay, don't worry."

Christine had been so consumed with the crow across the street that she hadn't known that Gustave had given the woman enough coins to rent a room at the inn for a few days.

"That's good," she nodded. "Are we going to bring her more bread the next time we go to the market?"

She thought of all the times kind strangers had given them food when they didn't have any.

"Yes, and some cheese and fruit, too. Would you like to help pick it out?"

She nodded eagerly.

They entered the little cottage and Christine started the fire just like Papa had taught her. They ate their supper, and afterwards Gustave played the violin while Christine practiced her singing. Soon it was time for bed, but a concern was steadily growing in her mind, one fed by the darkness pressing in around them against the few candles they had lit. Her Papa's explanation earlier, out in the bright sunlight, was suddenly less convincing in the nighttime.

She said her prayers by her bedside, then climbed under the covers. Papa came by to tuck her in and tell her a bedtime story as he always did, but she knew she had to ask her question before he started.

"Papa," she said in a small voice. "I know it's good to help people, but what if that lady really is a witch? Isn't it safer to not help her, just in case?"

"I'm very sure she's not a witch just because she looks like one," he said gently as he sat on the edge of her bed. "Do you remember what the Good Book says, Little Lotte? Whatever you do for the least of these-"

"You have also done unto Me," Christine finished, and nodded.

"That's right," he smiled. "No good is ever wasted, Christine, or lost or forgotten, even if it seems like it was - not if it was done with a pure heart. Helping someone not because they can ever pay you back, and not because you're expecting a reward, but just because they need help and you're in a position to give help - that's a very noble thing, don't you think? When you do something like that for someone, you're not just doing it for them - you're doing it for the Lord, too. If we're kind to someone just to be kind, then we've done the right thing, even if she is a witch."

He paused a moment, deep in thought.

"It's very hard for some people - people who don't look like everyone else, people who are different in some way. They're easy to be cruel to, by purpose and even just by overlooking them."

Christine had inherited her mother's pale complexion and light hair, so unlike his own. He took after his own mother, a Romani traveler. Things had not been easy for her, and things had not been easy for Gustave, especially when his wife had passed away it had become just him and Christine. A man who looked suspiciously Romani with a little girl who had blonde hair and blue eyes? Surely not his own child, was it? He had tried to shield Christine from much of such talk, but there were many, many times that help had been refused to them because people could only see a filthy foreigner who had stolen a child (never mind that Gustave had been born in Sweden, never mind, even, that his mother had been born in Sweden too). He was glad that such days of relying on the help of others were behind them, but he would never forget what it was like to be treated that way.

"But all people have equal value - even the forgotten ones and the ones that the world overlooks. God loves them all the same, and we're called to do likewise... Besides," a grin formed on his face. "If she really is a witch, then it would do us well to be on her good side, don't you think? She won't curse us if we're nice to her!"

Christine laughed, her fears forgotten.

"Now, what story do want to hear?"

Her eyes lit up.

"Tell me the one about the Angel, Papa - the Angel of Music!"

"The Angel!" he chuckled. "How did I know it would be that one again?"

"Because it's the best story," she whispered, pulling her blankets up around her.

"Very well then. This is a story," he started. "That takes place a long, long time in the future. At first it seems scary! It's so scary, it's almost too much! What do you think is happening to our brave heroine, Christine Daaé, in the very distant future?"

He asked, as he always did when he told the story of the Angel of Music, and as always she participated and came up with a different scenario each time.

She furrowed her little brow, thinking hard.

"There's a crow," she said finally, then quickly added, "Oh! But that's not why I'm afraid of it! The crow is actually an evil witch who wants to eat me!"

"There's an evil witch disguised as a crow who wants to eat Christine up for dinner!"

She gasped.

"But do you think the witch crow eats her up?"

She shook her head fervently.

"And do you know why not?"

"The Angel," she whispered.

"That's right! Just when Christine thought all hope was lost and there was no way out, that's when the Angel appeared. An Angel sent from Heaven to protect her and keep her safe. Even though it's scary, and difficult, the Angel won't let any harm come to her. Christine will be able to make it through all of the hard times because she has her Angel with her."

Christine pulled her blanket up to her chin.

"And the music?" she asked in a small voice.

Gustave smiled.

"And the music - the music Christine thought she had lost forever - well, Christine will be able to hear the music again. The Angel of Music will make certain of it."

Christine smiled as she closed her eyes. She lived and breathed music - and her Papa did too. It was one of the ways she felt closest to him. He had told her, too, that her departed Mamma had also loved music very much. Scarcely an hour passed where Christine did not think of music in some way - she loved to sing, and to try to play her little violin just like Papa did. She frequently came up with little songs of her own. She had done so for as long as she could remember, because she had always been able to hear music everywhere, all around her - the carriages in the street, the voices in the market square, the birds in the air, the wind in the trees, music, all of it music, so how could she not sing along? But there had been times in her life when, during great difficulties and times of uncertainty, she hadn't felt like singing because she could no longer hear the music all around her. There was no music when her tummy hurt from not eating all day, or when she was cold because they had to sleep outside again, or when she was frightened after someone had thrown rocks at them. She would weep during times like that, afraid that music had abandoned her forever. What would life be like if music was gone, never to return? The thought terrified her.

But this - Papa would not lie to her, she was certain of it. And he _had_ promised the Angel would appear, one day.

"The Angel of Music will help Christine find the music even when she can't see it, even when she thinks it's gone away. And the Angel will bring new music to her, as well! Such music like she has never heard before! The music of Heaven, and Christine will know peace because of it."

Peace and music and safety. Christine hoped so. One day. She was a little sad that things had to be scary again one day - she was happy and safe right now, wasn't she? Why did that have to change? Why couldn't the scary part all be behind her? - but if they did have to be scary, at least she could face them with her Angel by her side.

"What's the music of Heaven sound like, Papa?"

"Well, you have to wait for the Angel to show you," he chuckled. "But what do you think it sounds like?"

"Hmm. I bet it sounds really nice."

"I bet it does, too. Goodnight, Christine."

"Goodnight, Papa. I love you."

"I love you too, Christine."

Christine had waited so patiently, desperately, for the Angel after her father had died a few years later. The Angel had not appeared. She came to terms with the lack of the Angel a few years that, realizing that Papa had been speaking in a metaphorical sense - there was not going to be an _actual_ angel that showed up, but he had been trying to tell her, in a way that could comfort a child, that no matter what she went through in life that she'd eventually find her song again.

Twenty years after that long ago night that she had been frightened by the thought of a homeless woman being a witch, she sat in the chair of a strange masked man and wept tears of joy.

Papa had sent the Angel.

Oh, she knew that Erik was a man of flesh and blood, a human being just like her. He had no divine origin, not any more than she did. She knew, now, that the Angel of Music was a metaphor. But still-

Erik was the Angel of Music. She was certain of this.

More than one thing could true at one time, could it not?

Erik looked uncomfortable as he watched her. She smiled at him and laughed a little - she knew she must look a fright, or perhaps seem a little unhinged.

Erik pressed his lips together and squeezed his hands into fists over the keys to hide how they trembled.

"I hardly think I qualify as an angel, Christine," he said quietly. "I don't think an angel would cause people to scream in fear upon seeing it."

She chuckled as she wiped the tears from her eyes.

"Haven't you read the Bible before, Erik?" she teased gently. "Do you know what the first thing is that an angel always says when they appear before a human? It's 'fear not' - and I'm sure there's a reason."

Was that so? His mind reeled.

"I'm- Christine, I'm not an-"

She waved a hand at him.

"Erik, I know. It's this old story Papa used to tell me when I was a little girl. About how an angel would come to me in my darkest hours and comfort me, and keep me safe from people who wanted to hurt me, and how the angel would make sure I didn't lose my music even if it seemed like I'd be too upset or stressed to ever sing again."

She wiped at her eyes.

"And that's you, Erik. You're the Angel of Music."

Erik ducked his head, hoping she wouldn't see the tears forming in his own eyes. Could she truly think of him as an angel? How?

His mind took him back decades ago, to his last public performance - indeed, the last time he played for anyone - and to what had been said then.

He had been in Persia for several months at that point, designing the new palace for the Shah. He had somehow also become quiet well known for his illusions and parlor tricks, though anyone brave enough to ask to see one was few and far between.

People were wary of him in Persia, though he tried to be nice to them. People were wary of him everywhere he went, it seemed.

There was, of course, the Daroga, whom he had met back in Russia. Nadir seemed quite content to follow him about, and didn't shrink from his mask - or from his temper. They were friends of a sort, he supposed. He had never had a friend before.

Sometimes he wished he didn't have a friend at all, especially when he'd barge in right as Erik was playing the violin. But it was nice, in a way, even still. It was even nicer when Nadir had shown him all the instruments he'd never seen before, and even showed him to play some of them.

Nadir entered the room Erik was in, but he wasn't there to discuss music, not this time.

"The Shah wishes to see you," he told Erik, his face solemn, and he hesitated before adding, "The Khanum wishes to see you, as well."

Erik's heart sank. He had a feeling he knew what it was about - the Khanum had been trying for weeks to convince him to become an assassin for the throne. Erik had killed before, yes - but it was a very different thing to defend himself against a man who was intent on killing him first than it was to seek out and end a political opponent. It made him uneasy. If he did that, he would surely be the monster everyone said he was. He _wanted_ to better himself, not to sink lower into depravity.

"You don't have to accept her proposal, if she offers," Nadir whispered to him as they approached the throne room.

He had been there on a few occasions the job had been offered to Erik, and even though advising him against it might be dangerous if the Khanum found out, he was deeply uncomfortable with the idea that he had brought this young man here from Russia only to have him end up a murderer.

Erik was silent.

They entered the throne room.

Erin stood before the Shah and the Khanum, all too aware of how many eyes were on him.

"Your designs for the new palace are lovely, Erik," the Shah told him. "I had not imagined that a thing of such beauty could exist. In addition to your payment for the design, I also wish to offer you a gift. What would you like, Erik?"

"A gift?" Erik repeated.

"Of course. Anything, yours for the asking."

"Anything?" his eyes lit up, hopeful yet nervous.

The Shah grinned.

"You don't have to be afraid to ask for it, Erik. Would you like, perhaps, a girl from the royal harem?"

Erik glanced at the harem girls who were standing beside the Shah's throne. Their eyes went wide, and several scrambled to hide behind the others, frightened of being given to this strange young man who wore a mask, but one or two looked curious, intrigued. They were all quite lovely, even he could see that, but-

"I have no interest in girls, your highness."

The Shah laughed.

"Boys, then? We can find you a lovely boy, I'm sure-"

"No," Erik cut him off. "What I want is a piano."

A hush fell over the court.

"A piano?" the Shah frowned.

The Khanum sat up straight, eyes sparkling.

"Oh," she said in a strange voice. "Do you play the piano?"

"Yes," Erik felt wary, but he really wanted that instrument. "I mean, I used to. I haven't for a while. I've been looking for one since I got here, but haven't been able to find one yet."

Her fingers curled around the armrests of her throne.

"Ahh, we can get you a piano," she purred, and Erik's uneasiness returned. "But - if we give you this gift, you must promise to put on a little recital for us. What do you say, Erik?"

Erik stared. He knew something didn't feel right, knew it was a trap but he didn't know how. It had been years since he'd played a piano, and his fingers were itching to do so again.

"Yes," he finally said. "If you find me a piano, I'll play it for you."

The Khanum grinned. She had heard rumors about this odd man's talent with music, and she dearly wanted to hear him play... Almost as dearly as she wanted to see what was under that mask.

It was not two days later that the piano was set up in one of the grand rooms of the Shah's palace. Erik entered the room cautiously, quickly taking stock of who was there - the Shah and Khanum, of course, and Nadir, a number of servants and page boys and harem girls, all of them presumably there because they wanted to hear Erik play. He smirked. Persia had beautiful music, but he was quite certain that none of them had heard anything like _his_ music before.

He clutched his sheet music to his chest - his very own compositions - and bowed theatrically to the Shah and Khanum.

"I must thank you immensely, your majesties," he said politely. "For this very lovely piano and the opportunity to play a few humble pieces of my own for you all."

They nodded, and he sat down at the piano with a flourish, placing the sheet music in front of him.

"Erik," the Khanum said sweetly.

He paused.

"Do please take off your mask first."

"What?" he momentarily forgot his manners.

"Take your mask off before you play," she ordered, smiling.

Erik blinked fast.

"Erik, you are not to touch that piano until you remove your mask."

"I don't- I can't-"

She tutted.

"After all the work we went to to get you this piano, this generous gift for you, and you don't like it? Well, we can always dispose of it, if you prefer," she motioned for her servant to step forward, and he approached the piano with a small torch, ready to set it ablaze.

"No!" Erik shouted, springing up and trying to ward the man off.

"Will you indulge an old woman in her fancy, then? I think it's only polite to not hide away like that, and it's a very simple request, after all," she wheedled.

He sat back down heavily and glanced around the room. Nadir was frowning hard, his arms crossed - he had warned Erik about such situations with the Khanum - what had started out under the pretense of giving him a gift could (and had) quickly turned to a situation where, with one wrong move, he could end up executed.

The people in the room shifted uneasily - there had been much talk of what could possibly be under that mask. Some thought it was a birth defect, or an injury, pointing out what looked like burn marks or rashes on his neck when his cravat slipped down, and others still said that he looked completely normal and only wore the mask to intimidate or hide his real identity.

Erik could see no safe way out of this. He reached a trembling hand up to his face, pausing, not believing he was really doing this.

He removed his mask.

A girl screamed. There was a collective gasp and noises of revulsion as people turned away from him. Erik didn't let his eyes linger on any one person for too long - he had seen enough reactions to his face to last him a lifetime - but he did look at Nadir, who was looking down at his own feet and seemed a little pale. Erik's heart twisted. He shot a menacing look to the Khanum, whose eyes had widened as a grin spread across her face. She let her eyes linger on that wrecked visage, taking in each feature or lack thereof. The Shah sat beside her, up until that moment seeming only bored, but now he stared at Erik with the most peculiar expression, as though he were seeing something terrible but could not look away.

"Now play," the Khanum's voice wrapped around Erik like a velvet noose.

His shoulders stiff and his hands still shaking, he tried to focus on the sheet music in front of him but it kept blurring in and out of focus. He set his hands to the keys and began to play.

He poured his soul into his music that evening, as though if he only played well enough and with a deep enough emotion, it could make up for the fact that he was the one playing it.

The girls refused to look at him, but they clasped their hands over their hearts, touched at the beauty pouring forth from the instrument, from him. The page boys dared glances at him, entranced. Nadir focused on how his hands flew across the keys, pointedly avoiding his face but still wanting to support his friend. The Shah leaned forward, a fraction of his horror drowned out by wonder. The Khanum was, of course, delighted.

He played half a dozen songs of his own creation, and towards the end he almost forgot he was without his mask.

It was finally over, the last notes ringing out and echoing into the distance, and he glanced up to see what the Khanum's verdict was. More than one of the servants was wiping a tear from their eye, and Nadir looked proud.

The Khanum maintained eye contact with Erik.

"What beautiful, sensual, inspired music," she drawled. "Truly the music of Heaven, of an angel!"

She paused. Erik felt relief, for a moment. She had loved it! It had gone just fine!

And then, with her next few words, his entire world came crashing down and shattered.

"What a strange twist of fate," she grinned wickedly. "That the music of an angel should reside inside of a demon."

He tried to swallow around the lump in his throat. He could feel the hot tears running down his face and fumbled for his mask, embarrassed and ashamed. A mistake - this had all been a mistake. He never should have asked for the piano. He grabbed his sheet music and nearly ran out of the room, the laughter of the Khanum following him.

Nadir didn't get a chance to follow him until nearly half an hour later. Erik's door was unlocked, so he knocked loudly before entering. There was no response, and as he walked through the little house he was struck by the thought that it looked like someone had broken in and destroyed everything. Table and chairs overturned, dishes and knickknacks smashed on the floor and counter. His dismay only grew when he found Erik sitting on the floor of his bedroom, maskless and smoking something from a hookah, sitting in front of a large dish with its contents on fire.

Those yellow eyes met his with a challenge, and Nadir did his best not to flinch away as he knew Erik was expecting.

He took a long drag of the hookah.

"Well, well, well," he said on a exhaled could of smoke. "If it isn't the Daroga."

Erik tossed another piece of paper onto the fire. Nadir suddenly realized it was his sheet music, the ones with handwritten notes. His eyes went wide.

"Erik no!"

All that music, gone forever now.

"Why not?" he snapped petulantly, and Nadir's brow creased - what, exactly, was in that hookah? Did it account for the wild look in his eye?

"Erik, what happened?" he pleaded. "This isn't like you."

"_You_ don't know me," he scowled. "Did you know, for example, that I was a demon when you first met me in Russia?"

Nadir was at a loss.

"You aren't," he insisted. "You don't have to be, just because she said-"

"I gave them my music," he was on the verge of sobbing. "I gave them my very soul condensed into keys on a piano, and even still- it wasn't enough- I'm still-"

A look of such anguish passed across his features, made all the worse by his lack of a nose, a look that seemed to hold all the sorrow of the world.

His countenance turned cold and aloof.

"Erik gave them his soul this night," he whispered. "And Erik is dead."

He dipped a stave into the flames and held it up, watching the flame eat away at the work he had once been so proud of.

"And all that is left," he continued quietly. "Is a phantom. A demon."

Nadir could feel his own heart breaking, and he fumbled for something to say.

"She didn't mean it like that," he hesitated. "She likes the macabre, Erik."

He glared at him as he took another deep drag of the hookah, and Nadir flinched.

"She- she likes your face," he rambled. "She meant it as a compliment. And your music really was lovely, so please, _please_ don't destroy it-"

He let the last scrap flutter down to the bowl on the ground a second before the flames could reach his bony fingers, ignoring Nadir.

He watched the paper curl and turn black, just like his hopes of ever bettering himself. He had given them the music of Heaven, and still all they could see before them was a demon. Well, if they wanted to see a demon, he would show them one.

His next words, uttered between furious drags of the hookah, made Nadir's blood run cold.

"Go tell the Khanum," he said firmly. "That I accept her proposal."


	18. Chapter 18

Just as the evening of car attack had changed their dynamic with that simple gesture of his hand on her cheek, so too did that duet and it's aftermath irrevocably change them and how they interacted.

Gone was the aloofness he had so carefully cultivated, gone, too, was her uncertainty about how he felt towards her. She began to look forward to her days spent in his care, days she knew he would often drop everything to sing with her and to help her with her own singing.

It made her feel a little guilty sometimes, that he would neglect whatever it was he supposed to be doing simply so he could sing with her, but one time she caught a glance of what she had previously assumed were notes on case that he was copying to a notepad and instead saw that he had been sketching what appeared to be a skeleton wearing a ridiculous getup that included puffy sleeves, a cape, and a large brimmed hat with a feather in it. Perhaps he wasn't so very busy, after all, and she took comfort in that.

It felt very different going to the opera house with him, too. She was no longer being followed by an ominous man who was being paid to stand there - she was being watched over by her friend.

They approached the building for the evening of her show, and for once she was so focused on something else that she didn't even spare a thought for any anxiety over who she might see backstage.

And how she could not focus on someone as endlessly fascinating as Erik? She glanced up at him as they walked to the room she liked to practice in. He seemed to know so very much about so very many things - and when there happened to be something that she knew that he did not, he did not think it beneath him to ask her to tell him about it. Just the previous day she had remarked on an incorrect sign for some flowers in a little vendor cart on the side of the road - dahlias, she had said, not peonies like they were labeled - and he had asked her to show him how to tell the difference. It had lead to a long conversation on the subject of botany, which was a hobby of hers.

She found she loved talking with him almost as much as she loved singing with him. It had only been a handful of days since they had connected over music, but during that time they had had a number of long conversations. It was easy to open up to him, though, she supposed, it really shouldn't be - it was hard to read his emotions (though she thought she was getting better at it), and he seemed to be a good deal older than herself, and, all things considered, he really _was_ practically a stranger - but there was something about him, once she got to know him a little more, that made her feel secure, made her feel as though he wasn't judging her for anything she might say. Perhaps, she thought, it was because he knew what it felt like to be judged, knew how heartrending it could be.

She had told him about England and her music classes and had lamented her seeming lack of ability to connect to the other singers.

"I don't get it," she had tried to wipe inconspicuously at her watery eyes, smiling as though the thought didn't hurt her. "Maybe there's just something wrong with me!"

She had laughed a little, trying to play it off as a joke, but Erik hadn't laughed at it.

"Perhaps they are intimidated," he had murmured. "Who would not be, in the presence of such talent?"

He had told her stories about his work with Antoinette, and then, because those didn't seem personal enough yet he loathed the idea of telling her about his life before Antoinette, he told her about his compositions and played some of them for her.

It was only a few days, but it was enough for everything to change, she thought.

Once in her practice room, he guided her through her a new set of warmup exercises.

"You're quite ready, I believe," he finally told her. "Do you feel ready?"

"Yes," she nodded decisively.

"Good," he stood and opened the door, then paused. "When we go backstage, would you prefer I stay quiet, or do you not mind if I talk?"

She thought about it a moment, pleased that he was considering her and what she might like.

"You can talk, it's alright," she told him.

They bypassed her dressing room altogether, since she had dressed at Antoinette's house before coming to work. She couldn't help the little smile that formed as they walked backstage together, at how he stayed closer to her than he usually did, at how she felt safer with him there not only because he wouldn't let any harm come to her, but because she had been able to tell him her worries and he hadn't dismissed them.

They stood together in the wings, awaiting her turn to go on. A tenor was currently onstage, and then a duet up next, and then Christine - and then Carlotta.

Carlotta came and stood near Christine, leveling an icy stare at her. Erik put his hands on Christine's shoulders and moved her to other side of him, returning Carlotta's stare. It was diminished a little by the mask, but still unsettling. Carlotta tried to glare at him, but his unblinking yellow eyes proved to be too much for her, and her scowl faltered, a brief look of fear passing over her countenance. She turned and walked a few feet away from them.

Erik could feel Christine fidgeting and he knew she was nervous, even though she'd tried to ignore Carlotta. Wanting to distract her somehow, he placed his hands on top of her head before resting his chin on his hands. She giggled at this, and he smiled a little.

"Just like we practiced, Christine," he murmured softly as the tenor took his bow and left the stage.

She nodded, his own head made to move in tandem, then she glanced up.

"Erik," she whispered. "You're going to muss up my hair."

He stopped leaning on her and removed his hands from the top of her head, only to suddenly bring his hands up to the sides her face, spindly gloved fingers wiggling and threatening to invade her hair and pull it from its carefully coiffed style, tapping and patting her hair all over.

"_Erik!_" she nearly shrieked with laughter, despite their closeness to the stage and the two singers who were performing.

Erik put an arm around her and pulled her back towards himself, his other hand coming up to rest just in front of her mouth, but careful not to actually touch her face.

"Get ahold of yourself, Christine," he stooped to whisper in her ear, the smirk evident in his voice. "You are being far too loud, my dear."

Her heart raced at the term of endearment that fell so easily from his lips.

Carlotta narrowed her eyes at the two of them, at how oddly chummy they were suddenly acting. Clearly _something_ had happened between the two of them.

Christine's turn on stage arrived. He walked her to the very edge of the curtain, stopping just before he could be seen by the audience. She glanced back at him one last time and he gave an encouraging nod. He wouldn't let anything happen to her.

She stepped into the spotlight, smiling that radiant smile of hers, and began to sing.

Erik didn't think he would ever cease to be enthralled by her voice. It was every sweetness in life condensed into vibrations in the air that pierced his very heart. If he could only ever hear one sound, let it be Christine's singing.

A subtle motion in the wings on the opposite side of the stage caught his eye, and he tensed.

It was Buquet, he realized. The scene mover. But there was no scenery being used in this gala. What was he doing here?

Erik's eyes darted between Christine and Buquet, trying to mentally rehearse how he would need to run onstage and grab Christine out of the line of any danger (a gun? Some sort of rigged boobytrap from above?) and lasso Buquet at the same time.

But Buquet didn't move to aim a gun or even pull a rope and drop something from the flies. He merely stood and watched her sing, fidgeting nervously and eyeing something on the wall.

Erik looked at the wall on his own side of the wings to try to get an idea of what the man might be looking at. There were switches, mostly light controls as far he was aware.

Erik looked up, peering into the darkness, trying to make out any sandbags or the like that might come crashing down on her, but he could see nothing. His eyes fell to the stage itself, and he suddenly noticed long lines around the center of the stage, practically where Christine was standing. He traced them in his mind, connecting the thoughts of what they could be, when he realized - a trap door.

The stage had a trap door.

His breath constricted in his throat, but Buquet made no motion to flip any of the switches.

Christine's song ended and she curtsied to enormous applause from the audience and also Erik. She had sung every word, every note to absolute perfection - far better, even, than she had in any of her practices.

She was beaming as she left the stage, and stifled the urge to throw her arms around Erik and hug him.

"_Bravissima_, Christine," he told her, his voice quiet but just loud enough for Carlotta to hear it as she passed them. "I would hate to be the singer who had to follow up to _that_."

Christine blushed.

"Do you wish to stay for the rest of the show?" he asked, and she shook her head.

"I'd rather go home, I think. If you don't mind."

"Whyever would I mind? The best singer has already performed."

They left the wings and prepared to go back to Antoinette's.

"We should celebrate your success tonight," Erik said as they stepped out into the night air. "Do you want to go somewhere? Dinner or even just a dessert?"

Christine's smile faded a little.

"No, I'm afraid not," she hesitated. "I always used to go to dinner with Raoul after shows, you see..."

"I am sorry. I didn't mean- I'm sorry," he said quietly.

He hadn't mean to make it sound like a date, to make her feel like she was cheating on her fiancé. He didn't _want_ a date, not really - he just wanted to be around her, to celebrate with her. Was that so wrong? He didn't think so - he hoped it wasn't so - but he felt in the wrong all the same.

They continued to Antoinette's house in silence for a while.

"Christine," he asked presently. "What's on the other side of the stage, on the wall? More light switches?"

"Oh, that's the side with the trapdoor," she said.

"There's a switch to open the trapdoor on that side?"

"Yes, why?"

"Does Buquet often show up to shows he's not working in?"

She hesitated.

"No, I don't think so-"

"You were standing directly over the trapdoor when you were singing, weren't you?"

She became very still and quiet.

"Yes," she finally said.

"I think Buquet was going to open the trap door. He had no other reason to be there-"

"But he was working tonight - the final act is a pianist who brought her own piano. He's there to push the piano on stage for her," she fretted.

Erik paused. That did change things, he supposed.

"Besides," she wrung her hands. "What- what reason would he even have? What have I ever done to him?"

There were tears starting to collect in the corner of her eyes.

"What reason could he have to hurt Raoul like that?"

Erik felt guilty for upsetting her so. He rubbed a hand on the back of his neck, trying to think of a way to calm her down, trying to remind himself to not be so straightforward with her. He was, perhaps, a little intense when he was involved with his work.

"Has he ever had any reason to be upset with anyone in the opera house?" he asked, his voice softer this time.

She shook her head.

"He keeps to himself, mostly. All he really cares about is drinking."

She stopped suddenly, and put her hands over her face.

"Christine? What's wrong?"

"It's too much," she whispered. It sounded like she was crying.

He stood close, and leaned down to hear her better.

"Thinking about how close I came to being kidnapped, _again_-"

"Oh, Christine, no - I would never let that happen," he tried to soothe her. "Do you think I'd let that drunk fool come close to hurting you? No. Never."

"But he could have flipped that switch in an instant and you wouldn't have had time to get to me," she insisted. "It could have happened."

"But it _didn't_. That's all that matters," he paused. "I was wrong about him, I think. He had no reason to _not_ flip the switch, if he was looking to kidnap you. You must forgive me, Christine, I did not mean to upset you. My mind gets carried away, sometimes. I should not have said anything. I was wrong."

She wiped at her eyes.

"You think so?"

"Of course. The only thing I'm very certain of is that I won't let anyone hurt you. If you had fallen down that trapdoor, I would have gone right after you and killed whoever was waiting for you at the bottom."

She blinked a few times at that. The words had been said tenderly enough, but she wasn't entirely certain how she felt about him _killing_ someone for her. If it was to protect her - if it was her own life at stake... She sniffled and rubbed at her nose, her makeup smearing a little.

"Thank you, Erik," she sighed.

They both quiet for much of the walk back after that, but it was no longer the kind of silence that had permeated their walks in times past - it was a comfortable silence, one that didn't feel awkward or laced with fear of judgements.

When they arrived, Meg was there to greet them and handed them each a glass of sparkling apple juice.

"What's this for?" Erik asked immediately.

"For drinking, silly," Meg raised a playful eyebrow.

Christine took a sip of hers.

"Why, though," Erik eyed his.

"Also for celebrating!" Meg added. "Maman found him!"

Christine choked on her juice, sputtering and coughing.

"She found Raoul?! Is he okay?" her hands were shaking so that she nearly dropped her glass.

Meg's face fell.

"Oh- oh, no- I'm sorry, Christine, I didn't mean Raoul... I meant she found the little boy who had been missing," she lowered her gaze and bit her lip.

Christine bit back a sob.

"Is the little boy okay?" she finally asked.

Meg nodded.

"He's just fine. I'm sorry, again, I didn't mean to-"

"No, it's alright," she smiled weakly. "I'm glad she found him. That's good."

Erik downed his juice, feeling conflicted. He was glad the child had been found, but it hurt to see Christine so hurt.

"Has any progress been made in Raoul's case?" she asked hopefully.

Antoinette, who had just walked in and heard her question, shook her head.

"I'm afraid not, my dear - not yet at least. I have a few leads I'm following up on, but - it's slow work, unfortunately," she sighed.

"The masquerade is coming up in two weeks," Erik added. "I'm hoping that it will prove useful."

Christine was very quiet at the mention of the masquerade. She had made mention on several occasions that she would like to go, but every time she brought it up, Erik insisted that she was not allowed to go. Why shouldn't she go? Wouldn't she be more likely to recognize any of Raoul's associates? Erik was just being stubborn about it.

"Do you want to stay for dinner, Erik?" Antoinette asked.

Erik hesitated, about to turn her down, but then he caught Christine looking at him hopefully.

"I suppose I could stay for a while," he conceded.

Dinner was nice, and the conversation was interesting enough, though it wasn't exactly the private affair he had been hoping to have with Christine and himself at a restaurant. But perhaps it was for the better - why subject her to the stares they would undoubtedly receive if they went out?

It was after dinner that Antoinette retired to the living room, sitting down with her feet up - a much deserved rest after a case closed. Christine tried to shoo Meg out of the kitchen so she could talk to Erik alone and received a raised eyebrow and a smirk from her before she finally left.

"You know, Erik," she started shyly once they were alone. "I don't think I've ever sang as good as I did tonight."

"You were magnificent," he agreed, and she smiled and blushed prettily.

"And I've never felt so... not nervous before a show," she added. "Especially considering all of the stress going on right now... And I think- I'm _certain_ that that's all thanks to you. So thank you, for that."

"You were the one singing, Christine, I didn't really do anything-"

"Did you know," she furrowed her brow. "Did you know that I had been considering quitting the show?"

Erik paused, uncertain how to respond.

"But not just the show, Erik," she continued, her voice quiet and her eyes studying the floor. "I was considering not singing anymore until whoever sent that letter about me was found."

"Christine- the Populaire would cancel your contract- they wouldn't- they wouldn't hire you again after that-"

"I know," she nodded, meeting his eye. "I almost did that. But... Then you were there. That day in your office, I had told myself that if I couldn't get through my practices without messing up by the end of the day, I was going to let the managers know I couldn't sing anymore. But you helped me, and I sang, and now- thank you."

He swallowed hard. He had had no idea at the time, of course. It was mind-boggling to think of what might have happened had something been different - if he had had a headache at the time and asked her to please not sing, if he had sent her down to the basement to practice, if Antoinette had been watching her that day instead, if he had held his tongue and said nothing as she struggled through her practice-

They might not be here together now.

She fidgeted with her hands a little and looked up at him shyly.

"But could I really expect any less from the Angel of Music?"

The Angel of Music. But- but that was her! Perhaps not quite the story her father had told her, but if there existed any sort of angel in human form, of course it had to be her. He shook his head.

"You are the Angel, Christine," he said quietly, inching closer to her. "Your voice- it's like nothing else."

Her eyes were wide as she gazed up at him. If he were almost any other man, she might think he was preparing to kiss her.

"Sometimes I can't tell which is more beautiful - your voice, or your soul," he whispered.

She sucked in a breath, staring into his golden eyes. She placed a hand over her heart.

"Oh, Erik-" she breathed.

He was about to continue speaking when suddenly he caught a glimpse of Antoinette coming down the hall and towards the kitchen. He quickly turned from Christine, putting an ample amount of space between them. Christine remained rooted to where she stood, unable to leave it, but she turned her head so Antoinette wouldn't see the color on her cheeks.

"Don't mind me," Antoinette said, glancing between the two of them. "I'm just here for more water."

She poured herself another glass of water, looking at Erik's back as he pretended to look inside of the pantry. Everyone was so terribly silent, she thought to herself. What the devil had gotten into these two? She stood and sipped her water, staring innocently.

Presently Erik turned, looking rather aloof.

"I suppose I will see you both tomorrow at the office," he said coolly.

"We'll see you then," Antoinette nodded. "Have a good night, Erik."

"Goodnight Antoinette," he nodded towards her, then let his eyes linger on Christine a moment. "Goodnight, Christine."

"Goodnight," the word practically came out as a squeak, and she put her hand over her throat, embarrassed. Goodness, what was wrong with her?

"And goodnight, Madame, I'll be going up to bed now, I think," she said after Erik had left.

"Goodnight dear."

She climbed the stairs and drew a bath in a bit of a daze, replaying the entire day over in her mind. She sunk down into the bubbling scented water as deeply as she could go, until the water almost touched her nose.

_He thought her soul was beautiful_.

She wanted to scream. Who said things like that?! It was unbelievable, almost. It was- it was _romantic_. She tried to push the thought away. He was just being nice, being kind. He wasn't like that. It surely didn't mean anything more than when Raoul would kiss her cheek or hug her, and it surely wouldn't do to go imaging something where there was nothing.

And yet-

No matter. They were friends, she felt she was absolutely certain of that now, and she was pleased that they were friends. It felt wonderful to have him as a friend, she thought as she lingered in the bath. They were definitely just friends, and she was definitely okay with that.

Meg looked up as Christine left the bathroom, freshly washed and wrapped in her dressing gown.

"Why are you smiling like that?" Meg wrinkled her nose.

"I'm not smiling!" Christine nearly screeched, both hands flying up to cover her mouth, horrified, and Meg laughed.


	19. Chapter 19

Erik walked back to the office with hunched shoulders and quick steps. His face was burning with embarrassment underneath his mask. Why had he gone and said that to her?

He wracked his mind over and over, trying to figure out what had come over him, but the by the time he was safely upstairs in his room, the only answer he could up with was that it was simply the truth - her soul _was_ beautiful. Was he supposed to pretend that it was not?

He knew it had likely come off as cheesy, a trite line being employed to seduce her, but he certainly hadn't meant it like that. He was simply being honest with her - she was, without a doubt, the kindest, sweetest person he had ever met. Not just to him, but to everyone she came into contact with. And if that wasn't enough - _her voice_. Erik had come into contact with a number of immensely talented singers in previous years, and though he admired what they could do in stage, he often found them... _lacking_ when he had the chance to speak with them in person. Talent did not equate to being a good person - he would offer himself as the prime example of that. But Christine was different.

She was so very different and endlessly fascinating to him. He had never felt like that about anyone before, and it was a joy and curse at the same time. A joy, because it felt like finding a part of himself he never even knew was missing, but a curse because he honestly couldn't figure out what he wanted from her. He was quite certain about what he _didn't_ want from her - he didn't feel any curiosity to take a peek behind him when she was changing mere feet away from him in her dressing room, he didn't feel the urge to let his hands wander when he touched her shoulder or her back, he wasn't impressed or swayed by abstract thought of kissing her - he didn't want any of those things. If he didn't want the things that came along with a relationship, then clearly he must only want her as a friend. Except-

Why did he feel way about her that he didn't feel about his other friends? He didn't want to braid Meg's hair, he didn't want to lay on the grass and look up at the stars with Antoinette, he didn't want to write music about Nadir. Why was that? What was different? And what was this strange, hollow ache in his chest when he thought about her having a fiancé out there somewhere? Why shouldn't she have a fiancé, especially considering that he didn't want any of the things a fiancé would want?

It confused him to no end.

He took off his wig and mask, placing them on his dresser. He ran his fingers through his own sparse strands of greying hair, desperately trying to come up with an answer to his own questions. He kicked his shoes to the corner of the room, frowning at them as though they were to blame for his troubles, and changed into his pajamas. By the time he was underneath of his blankets and closing his eyes, the best answer he could up with was simply that he wanted to be her friend.

He tried not linger on the question of why the thought of being her friend seemed disappointing to him, as though he wanted more but still not enough to consider her a girlfriend. Was there even something that existed in between 'friend' and 'lover'?

He passed the days without her in a haze, trying to occupy his mind with work but always finding that he missed having her there with him. He missed their lively conversation, and he especially missed her singing, but he also missed just having her simple presence there in the room with him.

He couldn't help the smile on his face when it was finally his day to watch her again. Antoinette dropped her off at the office before departing on her own errands, and Christine had most certainly noticed the look on his face, or at least what she could see if his face - and really, it was no wonder that she could recognize that look - she wore the very same smile on her own face.

"What are you smiling about?" she asked, grinning.

He looked everywhere but at her, trying to feign innocence.

"Nothing, Christine. Who said I was smiling?"

She chuckled softly.

He had a busy morning - questioning some shopkeepers who had last seen a man that was their newest case - but he was looking forward to it all the same.

Although they talked of this and that on the way there, Christine was quiet and still as he cornered and questioned the men. She stayed close to his side, watching as he wrote down notes, her hands clutching her little purse.

Erik liked having her there - it felt nice, even if they weren't able to talk, an unobtrusive presence that still managed to improve the day simply be existing.

The shopkeeper's eyes sidled over to her as he answered Erik's questions. Christine kept her face blank, staring back at him, unblinking. She was used to men staring, but normally she preferred to not make eye contact or acknowledge them. Erik immediately took notice of where the man was looking and cleared his throat. The man flinched and ripped his eyes away from her, nervous. Christine smiled a little, glancing appreciatively up at Erik.

He asked the man two more questions before thanking him icily, then placed an arm around Christine's shoulders, not quiet touching but close enough to keep her near as he walked away from the shopkeeper - close enough to imply that any sort of attention that might be directed towards her was unwelcome.

She waited patiently as he questioned the other shopkeepers, forming her own opinions about the case. When he had finished with his work and finally tucked his notebook into his coat pocket, they made their way out of the store and onto the street.

"Where do you think he is, Erik?" she asked presently.

He scoffed.

"He's probably in a hotel two towns over, nursing a hangover, too embarrassed to come back just yet."

She nodded, thinking it over, then hesitated.

"And where... where do you think Raoul is?" she asked softly.

His shoulders drooped. She so rarely brought up the boy, but she was always so pensive when she did, and it killed him to have to admit that he was no closer to finding him than he had been when they first took the case.

"I am not certain, Christine," he said quietly. "Your boy seems to have disappeared without a trace, I'm afraid."

"There's still the masquerade," she added, trying to sound hopeful.

He smiled a little sadly. He didn't know what they would do if the masquerade turned up to have no new clues for them. He hadn't mentioned it to Antoinette, but he had yet to take the option of frightening Philippe into spilling his secrets off of the table. There would be trouble with the Daroga, of course, but surely it could get sorted out.

"There's always the masquerade," he agreed with her.

She chewed at her lip a little as they walked along.

"It feels like he's been gone forever," she said, her voice barely audible, slightly wistful. "I- I miss him."

His heart sank. He glanced down at her.

"We'll find him," he promised her. "I won't give up until he's back."

She sniffed hard and nodded.

"I trust you," she said earnestly, looking up at him and smiling as best she could.

Her trust felt like a punch in the gut. He didn't deserve it, he knew that. He'd looked as best he could for her boy and still he had next to nothing that would help in finding him. She trusted him, and he feared he was only going to disappoint her.

They arrived back at the office, their conversation turning to lighter matters, mainly on the topic of music. They both could talk about music endlessly, it seemed, and it always brightened her mood.

The opera house had announced its latest production for the next season, a new show based on an old folk tale, and Christine was excited to be understudying for Carlotta, who was cast as the Fairy Queen. She had an appointment later that afternoon to meet with the director and pick up her copy of the score, something Erik would have liked to have been there for, but was prevented from doing so by the rest of his work.

"It's going to be a gorgeous production, even more so on the nights you perform," he told her after hearing about the plans for the set designs.

She smiled, pleased.

"I don't really know how many performances I'll get to do, but I do hope I can do at least one."

There was a knock at the door, which Erik answered. It was Antoinette and Nadir, just as expected.

"I'm ready to go to the opera house when you are, Christine," Antoinette greeted her.

Nadir sat down on the couch as Christine went to grab her purse from across the room.

"Remember to bring the score with you tomorrow, I want to see it," Erik added. "And let me know what the director says."

"Of course!" she beamed up at him.

"We can start work on the new songs as soon as we have a few spare moments in between work."

"Oh, I'd like that."

"I don't anticipate you needing much more than repetition for memorization - the queen of the fairies was a role that was made you."

Her cheeks turned pink.

"Oh, I don't know about that..."

"Have a lovely evening, my dear," Erik said softly.

"Thank you, Angel. I'll see you tomorrow," she glanced back one last time before following Antoinette out the door.

Erik stared after them a moment, their faint figures blurred by the frosted glass of the door's window. When at last he turned, he was slightly startled by the unexpected expression on Nadir's face.

"The devil are you looking at me like that for, Daroga?" he smoothed down the lapels of his trench coat, suddenly uncomfortable.

"_My dear_?" Nadir raised an eyebrow, his grin growing. "Oh, Erik - I think you have a little crush on the mademoiselle Daaé!"

Erik sputtered.

"Do you even hear the things that come out of your mouth sometimes?" he glared at him. "What would make you go and say a thing like that?"

Nadir waved a hand, gesturing to the entire room.

"The way you behave around her, Erik. Really, I've never seen you act like that."

"Like what?" he asked petulantly, his face burning.

"Charming. Caring... Dare I say _tender_," he teased lightly. "And she called you _Angel_. It's obviously mutual."

"Stop," Erik looked away, pained. "It's not like that, you know it."

Nadir shrugged.

"It's not a bad thing, Erik, to care for someone..."

"I only called her that because that's what Antoinette is constantly calling her - how am I not supposed to let it accidentally slip when I hear her called that more than her own name?"

Erik was clearly agitated, but Nadir couldn't really see why. He didn't want to push him, but he truly had never seen him look at anyone the way he looked at Christine. And if it was this obvious from the few mere moments he had seen them together-

Erik might protest all he wished, but the young lady _had_ given her own term of endearment to him as well.

He knew he shouldn't prod at him so, that he should drop it as Erik had asked of him, but before he could stop himself, he blurted out-

"You might not feel anything for her but she clearly likes you, at least."

Erik couldn't understand the despair he felt at being told that he didn't feel anything for her - it was infuriating, almost, but he couldn't even name what he did feel for her, so how was it even real? How could it even matter, if it couldn't be quantified or qualified? And wasn't he the one arguing that he didn't have a crush on her?

"She likes me because she's stuck being around me, that's all," he settled on saying. "She has no real choice in the matter - she could like me or be miserable instead."

"I saw how she looked at you," he said carefully. "I don't really think that was just because she has to be around you..."

Erik peeled off his gloves and threw them down to the desk one at a time, glaring at them as they fell.

"It doesn't matter," he said, defeat creeping in at the edges of his words. "She's engaged to be married."

"I didn't see a ring."

Erik shook his head.

"No, but I've seen her with her boy. They're clearly in love - you should have seen how they were all over each other... and _kissing_," he grimaced. "She won't care a fig for me after I find Raoul."

Nadir's brow furrowed.

"Raoul?"

Erik turned on his heel, rolling his eyes.

"Yes, yes - Raoul. She's engaged to missing Vicomte. Do try to keep up, Daroga."

Nadir was quiet a moment.

"When did you see Raoul and Christine together?"

Erik paused.

"After her last performance as Marguerite, at the Populaire," he said carefully.

"You never told me you were there that night," Nadir kept his gaze steady.

Erik shrugged.

"So?"

"That's the night Raoul disappeared."

"I didn't see anything suspicious, so I didn't see a need to say anything," Erik shrugged again, crossing his arms as he leaned against the desk.

Nadir simply studied him for a moment, deep in thought.

Erik broke eye contact, finally having to look away. It stung - didn't the man trust him? Did he need to report his whereabouts to him constantly like was - like he _still_ was - some kind of criminal?

"Raoul's case is actually why I came by tonight," Nadir said at last.

"Did you find anything?" he perked up a little.

Nadir shook his head, frowning.

"Just the opposite, I'm afraid," he sighed. "But hopefully it'll lead to something new - the police chief of the next district over got wind of the case, and since we've had so little to go on, he offered to pitch in. His name is Edwards."

Erik scowled, refusing to look at Nadir.

"Is that so?" he said tightly. "Just how many people are laughing at our supposed incompetence, anyway?"

"Oh, Erik, it's not like that... The young man is a Vicomte, after all - of course his case is going to get a lot of press. It's not a personal slight on you."

Erik still felt that way, all the same - was it not bad enough that poor Christine had to ask him where her boy might be, did all of the neighboring districts have to get involved too? He wanted to fume at the sheer insolence of this _Edwards_ but each time he nearly opened his clenched jaw to pronounce a pox upon the man, he was reminded that he truly was coming up short in finding Raoul.

"Anyway," Nadir continued. "He's coming over to meet you all tomorrow, and to get copies of any of your notes on the case. I've already met with him today, and we went over all we knew. He was quite eager to meet you, really."

Erik clenched his jaw a little harder. Yes, everyone was eager to come stare at the freak.

"Fine," was all he said.

Nadir stayed and talked a while longer, on topics other than Edwards or the Vicomte, and by the end of it Erik was feeling a little less prickly about the whole matter. By the time Nadir left, he had resigned himself to meeting the man the next morning. The sooner he met him the sooner they could find the boy, and the sooner he was found the sooner he would be back in his fiancée's arms again. And didn't Christine deserve to have him back by now?

Erik would, after all, do anything for Christine.


	20. Chapter 20

Erik shuffled downstairs early that morning, his neck stiff from the tension he had been holding there all night. He was determined to do whatever he needed to help this man find Raoul, and in turn, help Christine.

The phone rang. He winced and answered it.

"Erik," Antoinette's voice filtered through the headpiece. "I'm afraid we're going to be a little late getting to the office today - there's been, ah, a _development_ that requires addressing."

"Is everything okay?" his brow furrowed.

Antoinette sighed.

"In the grand scheme of things, yes. In the mind of two young women, no, I'm afraid not."

Erik could hear Meg and Christine's voices in the background of the call.

_"Meg, stop pulling at it!" Christine sobbed. _

_"I'm trying to get it out! Stop running away!"_

_"You can't get it out like that! I tried!"_

_"Why would you even try to curl your hair? It's already curly!"_

Antoinette groaned.

"Anyway, once this delay is sorted out, we'll head right there," she told him before hanging up and turning to try and help Meg extract the curlers that were tangled in Christine's hair.

He sighed as he hung up, realizing this meant he'd likely to have to face Edwards alone. He always felt so awkward meeting new people alone. Had Nadir warned him about...? He touched the mask self consciously.

He was surprised, then, when he heard a knock at the door, and, after checking the time on the clock above the door, answered it to find that Nadir had come along with Edwards.

He exchanged greetings with Nadir as he looked the new police chief up and down, trying to ascertain what kind of a man he was. Edwards hardly seemed to notice he was being examined, instead focused on sizing up the room he was in. Erik felt a wave of annoyance at being ignored, but suddenly Edwards turned his gaze to him, and Erik began to regret not savoring the moments that _he_ had not been the thing in the room being scrutinized.

Those eyes raking across him, lingering on the hints of his deformities that showed through the edges of his mask while his brow furrowed just slightly - his gaze made Erik feel like there were beetles crawling across his skin.

Was the room always this hot? This suffocating?

He wanted to shove the two men out the door and lock it behind him. Why the devil had he agreed to meet this awful man whose stare felt like needles? Why had Nadir done this to him?

"Is Madame Giry not in today, after all?" Nadir's cheery voice cut through the fog of Erik's thoughts.

"She's been delayed," Erik found himself saying, glancing at the clock.

Edwards had only been in the office for ten seconds.

"Nadir showed me all his files on the case," Edwards said. "May I see what you have?"

"Of course," Erik turned to the filing cabinets behind him. "I don't know how much of it you haven't already seen, though - we gave all of it to Nadir previously, as well."

Edwards took the file and flipped through it.

In the ensuing silence, Erik's nerves began to settle. Surely Edwards hadn't meant to upset him so, it was merely his own insecurities that tainted every first meeting with someone new. At least, he thought wryly, no one had screamed this time.

"I've already seen all this at the police station," Edwards suddenly said, placing the file on the table. "Don't you have anything else?"

Erik hesitated.

"I'm almost certain that's everything. You can see why we've been at a bit of an impasse."

Edwards nodded, staring down at the file. Erik was about to mention the masquerade - had he put the note about that into the file? - when the door opened.

All three turned to see who it was, expecting Antoinette.

It was Philippe, eyes red from crying but his face stoic. He entered the room with an air of determination, steely blue eyes locked on Erik's yellow ones. He opened his mouth to say something to Erik but suddenly noticed the two men standing next to him. His resolve seemed to melt out of him, face going white.

"How can we help you, Monsieur le Comte?" Erik asked.

He tore his eyes away from Edwards, looking at Erik with all the hurt in the world. His eyes flickered rapidly between the three men, his hands fidgeting.

"I just- I just-"

Erik rolled his eyes.

"You came here for something, what it is?" he huffed impatiently.

Philippe stared down at his feet, eyes watering again. He clenched his hands into fists.

"Is there any news about Raoul?" he grit out, shamefaced.

"My apologies, good Comte, but we have nothing new as of yet," Erik softened his voice just slightly - he wasn't a fan of Philippe, but something about the way he looked inspired either compassion or pity, he wasn't sure which. Perhaps both.

Philippe nodded tersely and turned to leave. He hesitated just a moment at the door, glancing back at Erik mournfully before leaving.

Erik looked to Nadir, confused, but Nadir looked just as puzzled as Erik. He looked to Edwards, but found no answers there either, as he was simply staring at the door.

"The older brother?" Edwards mused, and Erik nodded.

Edwards ran his hand through his hair, turning back the file and looking through it one last time.

"Are you sure this all there is?"

"Quite. That's everything."

Edwards frowned a little.

"Well, we'll do our best over at our department. It's been slow in our district - a good thing, really. Occasionally we can take over a case from a neighboring distract when that happens."

"Take over?" Erik repeated.

Edwards nodded.

"I find we're a little more equipped than many, ah, smaller enterprises," he chuckled and gestured to the office. "Isn't that right, Nadir?"

Nadir squirmed a little.

"More employees means more manpower, so of course it becomes easier to investigate," Nadir shrugged apologetically. "It's not a matter of being more skilled, though."

"I'm sure my boys will get it worked out if there's anything to be found. These cases, though... sometimes trails go cold, you know," Edwards sighed.

"Oh, I don't think that will be a problem, Monsieur," Erik said stiffly. "Because I don't intend on giving the case up."

Edwards paused.

"That won't be necessary. Did you not hear what I just said? My district will take care of it."

"With all due respect, Monsieur, but we operate independently of the police stations. You may take the case over from Nadir, but not from me."

Nadir cleared his throat, not pleased to be caught in the middle of the two clashing egos. He was on good terms with all of the neighboring district chiefs, and he preferred to keep it that way - but Erik had been his friend for decades.

Edwards glanced between Erik's firm gaze and Nadir, who was pointedly looking away. He straightened his jacket tensely.

"I see," was all Edwards offered.

He turned to go.

"I'll give you a call when I find Raoul," Edwards shot back at Erik as he began to reach for the doorknob.

Erik sprang forward, realizing that if he opened the door for Edwards, he could also slam it behind him.

"My good Monsieur," he said, his voice falsely honey-sweet. "Not if I find him first."

They struggled with the door a slight moment, ending with it closing harsher than normal on account of it being both pulled by Edwards and pushed by Erik.

Once it was closed Erik turned and leaned his back against it, scowling and rubbing at his temples over the mask.

"_Somebody_ better fucking find Raoul," he grumbled under his breath.

Nasir shrugged sheepishly.

"It went... I mean, it didn't go as bad as it could have," he offered.

"Look what you've gotten me into, Daroga," Erik accused.

"Gotten you- Erik! Really now, Edwards is a fine officer - he's quite good at what he does."

Erik glared.

"He's _also_ quite good," Nadir rolled his eyes and continued. "Just last week he busted up an underground gambling ring, arrested five men in charge of it. I'm sure he's going to be a good help in finding Raoul."

There was silence in the office for a moment.

"Besides," Nadir said lightly. "Isn't finding the young man the most important part? It doesn't matter who finds him first - just that we find him quickly. Don't you think Christine would agree?"

Erik narrowed his eyes at him, knowing exactly why he was bringing it up. Nadir maintained an air of innocence, but Erik _knew_ \- he must still be on his kick about that nonsense theory that Erik had, of all things, a _crush_ on Christine. He very nearly said _who cares what Christine wants_ just to spite him, but felt unaccountably guilty just for thinking of those words in that order, so he said nothing.

"Don't you you have work to do?" Erik snapped instead, peevishly.

"Not till later," Nadir chuckled, then paused. "Are you feeling alright?"

Erik rubbed a hand at the back of his neck where it felt stiff.

"Fine," he muttered. "I just- it's been quite a morning, already."

"Do you need to take a break?" Nadir frowned, studying him closely. "You shouldn't push yourself, you know."

Erik shrugged.

"No, I'm fine."

Fine except for his oddly bruised ego. He had fully intended to help Edwards help Christine, but then the man had stared, and had called his office _small_, and he had implied that Erik didn't need to bother with the case anymore, and surely he didn't want him to bother with it because he thought Erik incompetent somehow, and he wasn't incompetent in the least! But if he wasn't incompetent, how did the boy's captors continue to elude him? It went around in circles in his mind, flustering and upsetting him.

Nadir reached a hand out and squeezed Erik's shoulder.

"Take care of yourself, Erik," he said kindly. "I'll be off now, I think. Do you need anything?"

Erik shook his head.

"No. Thank you."

He had a half hour of silence in which to rest his forehead on the desk and sit alone with his brooding thoughts before Antoinette and Christine arrived.

Antoinette looked like she was already ready to be done with the day, but Christine walked in primly, showing no sign that she had recently been in near hysterics after Meg had told her the only way to remove the remaining tangled curler was to cut part of her hair.

Her hair - Erik took extra notice of it now. It had always had a thick wave to it, one she'd either let hang naturally or else used to her advantage when twisting it into an elaborate style, but right now it had been pulled straight back into a collection of ringlet curls that cascaded down her back. He found her usual hair endearing, but this looked quite nice too.

"I see you managed to extract the curlers without too much damage," he mused dryly, and her cheeks turned pink.

She patted at her hair, thankful that he hasn't noticed the missing inch or two that Meg had taken the scissors to, but a little embarrassed that he had heard her in the background of the phone call.

"Meg thinks she's getting dolled up to try and impress someone at the opera house," Antoinette rolled her eyes, smiling wryly.

"Madame, no!" Christine was dismayed.

She looked to Erik, her face turning rosy, and shook her head vehemently.

"No," she repeated in an almost pleading tone.

Her gaze was a little pained, as though it hurt her to think that Erik might think she was trying to catch the eye of some mystery man at the Populaire.

"You know how Meg is, my dear - she's usually guilty of whatever she accuses someone else of," Antoinette snickered.

"Well I should think so," Christine sounded indignant, glancing at Erik. "I certainly wouldn't dress up for someone at the _Populaire_."

She said the name as though it were it an insult.

"The poor thing must be addled with another infatuation, then. We aren't even going to the Populaire today," Erik thought aloud, then suddenly paused as something occurred to him.

"Do you think it's a performer or a stage hand this time?" Antoinette asked idly, but Erik barely heard her.

_Was_ Christine dolling up for someone? But- but- the only person she was seeing today was-

Himself.

His brow furrowed as he watched the two women gossip lightly about Meg and her ever growing list of 'true loves'.

Erik was a smart man, he felt that was a fair and accurate description of himself. He knew quite a lot of different things, and a few things he knew quite well. But one thing that had continually escaped his grasp throughout his life was when someone flirting with him. He could mostly tell once it reached the point of someone practically throwing themselves at him (mostly), but subtle signs of interest, little clues of attraction - those were lost on him.

Nadir had been so _certain_ that Christine felt something for him. And now Meg - Meg would know better than anyone when someone was altering their behavior to attract attention from a potential date. And Christine had seemed so hurt for Erik to think there might be someone else!

Erik sat heavily in his chair, his mind reeling. Did she... feel things for him? Had he led her on somehow?

Surely they were all mistaken! She had Raoul, didn't she? She couldn't be interested in him! Why would _anyone_ be interested in him?!

For a brief, daring moment, he let his mind wander to what it might be like if she did like him - would they go for long walks together, not because he had to go with her, but because she wanted to spend time with him? Would she call him on the phone late at night after a busy day of work, her voice sweet and caring through the receiver as she asked him about his day? Would they go to dinners after her performances, fancy dinners with caviar and cakes?

He scolded himself. That's not what it would be like, he knew that. She wasn't like him. She was normal. It would be awkward conversations and awkward feelings and disappointment and frustration until finally they did the only reasonable and smart thing, which was to permanently part ways.

It didn't matter if she liked him - she was mistaken. Never mind about Raoul. She didn't even know him, not really, not beyond the conversations they'd had recently. A feeling of adrenaline induced by the situation they were in and mistaken to be attraction to him, that's all it was, if it was even anything. It would pass, assuming it existed.

"Erik? Did you hear me?" Antoinette tilted her head, concerned.

He startled.

"Hmm?"

"I said I was just about to leave now. Are you feeling okay?"

"Yes, fine. Just a little distracted."

"Well... okay. I'll be back this evening then," she looked one last time at him before leaving.

He felt a little embarrassed after having zoned out for so long.

"Are you ready to go as well?" he asked Christine, who nodded.

It had somehow fallen to him to be the one to escort her on her little shopping trip, a mere roll of the metaphorical dice that had caused Antoinette to not have time to take her there on one of the days she was watching her, but Erik didn't mind too much. Shoe shopping was not a particular favorite of his, but for her he would endure it.

"What do you think of these, Erik?" she asked, trying on a pair of incredibly tall heels in a vibrant purple color.

He hesitated, now viewing their dynamic in a different light. Was she asking to be polite and not ignore him, or to get an actual opinion, or was she fishing for a compliment because she...? He should be kind to the poor girl, say something nice to her so he wouldn't hurt her feelings too badly-

"They're tall," he said. "I think you're going to fall and twist an ankle."

She tsked.

"I will not! Look!" she did a little twirl to show off her balance.

"They look uncomfortable."

"I'm used to the pain," she teased as she sat down to take them off.

"Where are you even going to wear those to?"

Her eyes widened and she clutched one of the shoes to her chest.

"_Around_," she said ominously, and he huffed.

Erik was becoming curious now.

"Do you even have anything to wear them with? They won't match anything I've seen you in."

"You haven't seen everything I own, Monsieur."

Erik chuckled in spite of his misgivings.

Christine decided, for some mysterious purpose she wouldn't tell Erik about, to buy the shoes.

They walked back towards the office, talking of inconsequential things as they did. He glanced down at her, his brow furrowing. She was walking so close to his side, so comfortable at being near him. He quickly looked away. She was close because she had to be, and she was comfortable because she knew she was safest near him. Surely no other reason.

Thoughts like these made his head feel weird, like a bright light was being shined into his face while he trying to see just beyond it.

He tried to turn his thoughts to something else, but the only other thing that could occupy him was the strange business with Philippe that morning.

That was nearly as bad - what had come over the Comte earlier? He'd never seen the man look so repentant and contrite. But why? Why would he come all the way to the office to ask a question he could have asked over the phone?

The thoughts grew into an ache in the base of his skull.

Christine looked up at him. He was faltering a little in his conversation, becoming a little more distant, and she was afraid she was boring him. She tried harder to engage him.

Erik's eye twitched but he kept his voice steady as he replied to her seemingly endless questions. His patience with her astounded him - pain always made him behave shortly with people he liked and made him downright intolerable to people he didn't care about. But even in the midst of the annoying buzzing inside his skull he still managed to be kind to her.

"May we stop in this little shop, Erik? I'd like to get some magazines, if you don't mind."

Erik minded. He minded very much. He wanted nothing more than to simply go home and rest his aching head. But Christine was looking up at him so sweetly...

"I don't mind."

They went in the shop, and though she had mentioned wanting magazines she lingered over the candy selection.

"What kind do you like?" she asked shyly.

He stared blankly at the glass jars filled with brightly colored sweets.

"Why?"

Christine looked at him, a little incredulous, a little concerned.

He met her eye and suddenly realized what she was asking. He twisted his hands nervously. No one had ever bought him candy before. Why did that make his face feel warm?

He tapped a finger against the jar of taffy, embarrassed.

She smiled as she asked for some from the shopkeeper, ending up with several bags of numerous different candies.

The shop was filled with odds and ends that she wanted to look at, and for a little while Erik thought he could hold off the impending headache. And he seemed to be able to - until he wasn't.

He lurched to the side, nearly knocking into a display of greeting cards.

"Erik?" she looked up from her magazines, concerned.

"Christine," he whispered urgently. "Make your final selections and purchase them, we have to go immediately."

Startled, she grabbed a few more magazines and took her shopping basket up to the counter to pay for everything, glancing nervously around.

He knew from experience that he had perhaps a half hour at most before the pain became overwhelming - loss of balance usually signaled the arrival of headache that would put him out of commission for at least the rest of the day.

"Can you ring them up any faster?" her brow knit as she asked the clerk. "I'm in a rush."

Erik shoved his hands in pockets so no one would see how he squeezed them into white knuckles fists. He scowled at anyone who dared to look in his direction, frightening one of the poor unsuspecting clerks behind the counter - anything to pretend he wasn't within arm's reach of being incapacitated.

Christine grabbed the bags off the counter and told the clerk to keep the change, offering no resistance or protest when Erik reached out to wrap his hand around her upper arm and nearly pull her outside. They set off for the office at a brisk pace.

"Erik, what's wrong?" she asked breathlessly. "Was there someone in there?"

He glanced down at her, realizing he'd probably given the impression that she had been in danger.

"It's not you, dear, it's me," he mumbled.

"What?" she looked confused.

"In a matter of a mere dozen or so minutes, I will unfortunately be relegated to a couch or the floor," he stooped down to whisper in her ear, his hand still on her arm, both to keep her close and to keep his balance. "I get the most terrible headaches, and I can tell one is on it's way."

"Oh..."

"We have to get you to the office before that happens. It's the only way you'll be safe," he glanced around nervously, afraid of what might happen to her if she were left all alone out here - he would certainly be no help very shortly.

By the time they made it to the office, his vision was blurry. He swiftly locked both doors and turned off the lights. To his surprise, Christine quickly pulled the curtains over the windows.

"Christine," he said softly but seriously. "You mustn't open the door for anyone, or give any sign that you're here. I'm not going to be able to defend you, I'm afraid. Here, take this. Use it, if you have to."

He reached into his pocket and held out his pistol. She took it, her face turning pale. She didn't want to use it!

"I'm so sorry, but you're quite on your own for the rest of the evening," he sat heavily on the couch and noticed the look on her face. "If someone breaks in and tries to steal you- you'll have to do it-" he gestured to the pistol, then added gently- "Don't worry, it'll be okay. I'll clean the mess off the floor when I'm able, and I'll make certain you don't face any legal ramifications."

"That's not the part I was worried about!" her eyebrows flew up and she placed the pistol on the desk. "But what about you?"

He settled himself back on the couch, closing his eyes with a pillow under his head.

"I just need dark and quiet for some hours until it passes."

She came and sat on coffee table, looking him over with concern.

"Would you like some pain killers?" she asked, making certain to keep her voice low. "I think I have some in my purse, I can get them for you."

His eyes flew open.

"No! No, Christine- I can't. Please don't give me any pain killers- not anything. Please!"

A well-meaning client in the past had slipped him some laudanum in his drink once, only intending to ease the terrible headache he had come down with - not realizing the hell it put it Erik through to have that terrible drug in his system once more - the craving, the sickness, the week of trembling hands that followed.

He couldn't explain all that to Christine right now, but it was paramount that he not take anything.

She looked like she took him seriously, and nodded. She didn't understand why he wouldn't want anything to help him, but that was his choice. Still, she wanted to be able to do _something_ for him.

"Mamma Valerius used to get migraines too," she said as quietly as she could, then hesitated. "Oh, I am being too loud for you?"

He shook his head, eyes closed once more. He loved her voice, even in a whisper, even through the pain.

"Well, Professor Valerius did research into it, and he said that there were pressure points in the hands that could ease pain in other parts of the body. So he would massage her hands when she had a migraine, and it did help! Would you like me to try that?"

His brow furrowed under his mask.

"You don't want to touch my hands," his voice was harsh and gravelly to his own ears, his tone almost accusing.

She stifled a giggle.

"Do _you_ not want me to touch your hands?" she teased gently.

He hesitated, then offered his hands to her. His horrible, disgusting hands, with the bones far too protruding, the veins far too visible. But she paid no notice to that, taking one in both of her own.

"Oh! You're cold!"

He tried to pull his hand back, ashamed, but she didn't release him, instead rubbing her hands together with his between her palms.

"You must have poor circulation," she mused softly.

Once his hand had warmed a little, she began to knead her little fingers into the scant flesh between his thumb and the rest of his fingers.

"Does that help?" she asked after a few minutes.

He gave a single nod.

It _did_ help, but he couldn't decide if it was due to pressure points or just because of the novel concept of his hands being held by her without any revulsion on her part.

In the pain-addled darkness of his mind, he let his fuzzy thoughts wander to the image of Christine's former caretaker laid out on a couch much like he was, and her husband in Christine's place, rubbing her hands. A sweet scene between husband and wife, a sign of devotion, of love.

Why were they here like that too? It didn't make sense, but they were here all the same, her gentle hands on his.

"Mamma always said a cold washcloth on her forehead helped, too," Christine broke the silence. "Would you like me to get one?"

Erik made a little noise that she took as acceptance, and she placed his hand back on his chest before rising to go to the restroom and retrieve a cloth. He could hear the water running for a moment before she returned, and it was only as she approached that his mind remembered something important. His eyes opened wide.

"Christine-"

To put the damp cloth on his forehead would require her to remove-

"Don't take off my mask. You can't."

She paused a moment.

"That's all right," she sat down next to him again. "What about if it goes on your neck instead? That could help too."

He swallowed hard. She had already seen his neck before, despite his best attempts to keep it hidden. His hands were shaking as he reached up to undo the cravat and the first button on his shirt, so she helped him to do so. He couldn't help but feel a wave of shame as the red scars there were revealed, even if she had seen them before.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"Don't be," she murmured as she pressed the cool cloth to his neck and jaw, her eyes glancing at the scars but not lingering there.

"Don't take the mask off," he warned her one last time.

"I won't. I promise," her gaze met his eye in the near-darkness, and he could see the sincerity behind her words.

He closed his eyes again, surprised at the amount of trust he was putting in her. His body wanted nothing more than to sleep this headache off, and though he normally didn't like the thought of being asleep with someone else awake in the room (prying hands and curious minds were a terrible mix when his mask was involved), he found he didn't mind Christine being there.

Just the opposite, even - it felt safer somehow, having her there next to him, squeezing his hand with one of hers while the other hand tended to the cloth, moving it from place to every so often, folding it over when had ceased to be cool on one side.

He fell asleep that way, a strange sense of peace present even in the midst of the haze of pain and discomfort, and it was in the last few thoughts that slipped through his mind like grains of sand through one's fingers that he realized something.

He didn't know for certain what, exactly, Christine felt towards him, but there was something he could not deny any longer - he had feelings for Christine Daaé.


	21. Chapter 21

Christine glanced at Erik's sleeping form for what felt like the thousandth time. He hadn't moved in four hours, and she had to stare at his chest to be certain of the shallow breaths he was taking.

He groaned, and she jumped - it sounded so loud after four hours of silence, four hours of being certain that any sound outside surely spelled her impending doom.

He placed a hand over his eyes, turning on his side as best he could. He always felt so groggy after a headache. The pain and stiffness still lingered, but the worst was over. He looked at Christine through his fingers, at how she was looking at him, obviously interrupted from reading her magazine in the light of a single candle.

He felt a squeezing ache in his chest. He loved her so.

"How do you feel?" she asked softly.

"Better," he croaked out.

"You don't sound better," she chuckled. "Can I get you some water?"

He nodded and tried to sit up. She brought him a tall glass of cold water, which he took thankfully and sipped at.

"You should take it easy," she fretted over him, sitting next to him on the couch.

"Did anything happen while I was asleep?" his voice sounded a little less hoarse.

"No, nothing," she shook her head.

His mind a little less foggy, he reached his hands up to feel his mask.

"I didn't touch it," she supplied quickly.

"I know," he replied.

And he did - she would have fled the room if she'd seen under it, certainly not come and sit closer to him.

The phone rang, the noise jarring. Erik jumped and winced. Christine sprang up to get it.

"Hello?" she asked quietly.

"Christine?" Antoinette's voice came through. "Where's Erik?"

Christine glanced over at him and answered softly.

"He just woke up from a nap, his head wasn't feeling well."

"Oh, did he have another one of his attacks?" Antoinette sounded sympathetic.

Christine watched him as he stared at her.

"Yes, he did. He seems to be feeling a little better now, though."

"What's she saying?" Erik croaked out, realizing who it was.

"The poor dear," Antoinette sighed.

"Is she calling me a '_poor dear_'?" he began to grow agitated.

Christine shook her head, eyes wide, but Erik glared at the phone all the same.

"Well, I was just calling to say I was on my way back to pick you up, dear," Antoinette continued. "I should be back shortly."

"Okay. I'll see you soon," Christine hung up the phone.

"She'll be here to pick me up soon," she told him as she came closer to the couch. "Will you be alright tonight?"

She immediately felt silly for asking - surely he had had a great number of such nights before and had been just fine during them.

He nodded and rubbed at his eyes.

"I'll be fine, I think. Just very tired. Pretend everything is fine when Antoinette gets here, though, I don't need her calling me a poor dear again," he groaned.

Christine laughed softly and place a hand on his arm for a moment.

"But you are a poor dear! Oh-! Do you want some taffy?"

Something about her words made his face flush. She offered the bag of taffy to him, and he dutifully picked one out and put it in his mouth.

Candlelight and taffy. Perhaps some might consider it romantic, he mused. How glad he was, then, that he was above such things - at least that's what he told himself.

"How are you?" he asked around the melting taffy in his mouth. "You weren't too frightened, were you?"

She didn't feel it was entirely imagination that made her think she could see the concern on his masked face.

"Just a little," she admitted, her fingers fidgeting. "I was- I was worried for you, too."

He frowned.

"You shouldn't worry for me, Christine."

"I can't help how I feel!" she protested with a little smile.

"Really, I-" he stopped and winced at his own raised voice.

She started, her brow knitting.

"Do you need to lay down again?" she whispered.

He nodded and reclined, covering his eyes with one hand.

They stayed that way as they waited for Antoinette. Erik peeked through a crack between his fingers to observe how she sat there next to him still. He couldn't figure it out - surely she would have been looking for any reason to put space between them. There were plenty of other places in the office to sit, and yet-

That was the thing about only knowing half the picture, his weary, aching mind reminded him. You couldn't base rational decisions on only a small portion of knowledge. She really hadn't seen his face, after all. Thoughts swam through his head, wondering about what she assumed was under the mask. A large but simple scar, perhaps? An unsightly birthmark?

Antoinette had never seen him, either. He assumed, though, that Nadir had kept the description short and sweet - deformed, he'd probably said. _Un_formed was far more apt, though.

The door unlocked and opened quietly, stirring him out of his ruminations on how hideous he was. He took a deep breath and stood, Christine standing up and walking towards Antoinette in the near darkness.

"Are you okay?" Antoinette asked, looking him up and down.

"My dear Madame, I assure you I am quite well," he drawled, pulling himself up to his full height.

She huffed and rolled her eyes. Who did he think he was fooling?

"We'll check on you tomorrow, then," she said as she reached a hand out to Christine. "Take care, Erik."

"Goodnight, Erik," Christine said softly as she left.

He nearly collapsed back on the couch, the little show of supposed wellness having sapped all of his energy. He would be spending the evening on the couch, it would seem. The last thought that drifted through his mind was embarrassment upon realizing he hadn't even returned Christine's farewell.

When they returned the next morning, they found the curtains pulled tightly shut in the office with only the barest amount of light seeping through. Erik was a louched down in the chair at the desk, a drawing pad and pencil in hand.

"Not doing too well, I take it?" Antoinette asked kindly.

He shrugged, or at least he tried - his neck still felt stiff.

"I can take Christine with me, if you prefer," she offered.

"Oh!" Christine let the little noise slip before she could stop herself, and then blushed hard as both of them paused and looked at her.

She twisted her hands around each other.

"I can stay! I'll be quiet as a mouse, I promise!" she pleaded, feeling rather silly, then looked to Erik and added- "If you don't mind, that is."

"Hmm. The girl can stay, Antoinette," he murmured. "But I don't feel up to doing any work today besides that."

"Very well," she arched an eyebrow at Christine. "Be on your best behavior, mademoiselle - he has a sharp tongue when he's recovering."

Christine stifled a giggle at her teasing.

"I have never said so much as an unkind word in my life, I haven't the slightest idea what you mean," Erik frowned.

"Regardless, I will be back tonight to collect her. Please try to not reduce her to a puddle of a tears in the meantime."

Erik paused, looking up from whatever he was drawing.

"You know very well that I can't make a promise like that. Look at her," he gestured to Christine. "She looks like she's liable to burst into tears at any minute. What did you do to her on the way over?"

"Hey!" Christine protested through her grin. "Madame is right, you are mean!"

"Oh, he hasn't even gotten started, my dear," she tutted and shook her head. "I'll see you tonight, and we can gossip about how nasty he was all day."

With that she bid goodbye to them both, leaving the two alone.

Christine made herself comfortable on the couch, trying not to look too interested in his artwork. Erik glanced up every few seconds.

"I don't feel that bad, you know," he finally broke the silence. "I just can't be anywhere it's too bright, or too loud, but we can still talk a little, if you'd like."

He despised most voices when he was in the middle of a fit or even recovering, but something about Christine's tone was comforting and reassuring.

"What are you drawing?" she asked promptly, leaning forward on the couch.

He stifled a groan. How did he know that was going to be her first question?

"The office," he answered truthfully.

"Just the office?"

"Indeed. I've drawn it a good number of times before."

"Isn't that a little boring? Drawing the same thing over and over?"

He thought about it.

"No, I don't think so. It's always the same office, but it's never really the same. A book here, a teacup there, a stack of files, a melted candle - there's always some new detail, some new way of looking at the thing that's already so familiar. The more you go over it, the more differences you find, and you find entirely new ways of looking at something you thought you already knew," he paused, taking in the room, and then his eyes fell onto her.

She was looking at him eagerly, hanging on his every word. His eyes narrowed slightly, and, without looking at the paper, he began to draw the basic shape of a figure sitting on the couch.

"That's so interesting," she breathed, and looked around the room.

"Hm."

She turned her curious gaze back to him once more.

"Do you ever draw people?"

He froze. It was as if she had seen his sketch pad as clearly as if she were right next to him.

"Sometimes," he answered carefully.

"Oh," she twisted a curl around a nervous finger.

He took in a breath as though to ask a question, but never voiced it.

"I had a boyfriend in England," she ventured. "He was an artist, too."

"Is that so?" he gripped his pencil just a little tighter.

"He would draw me, sometimes," she crinkled her nose a little, as though she were revealing a deep secret. "Oh, but he was awful at it! I hated how he made me look. But he said I was good 'practice'. Well, I hope he got enough practice in on me, or else I pity the poor young woman he's with now!"

"That's because he couldn't see you, not really," he swallowed hard, his dry throat. "He must have been a terribly bad artist, to have such a beautiful subject in front of him and still capture it so poorly."

They were both quiet a long moment, neither one breaking eye contact.

"Do you know how awful it is, for someone to tell you you're just 'practice'?" she asked softly.

It was Erik who looked away first. He looked down at what he had put on the sketch pad, at the simple yet elegant figure he had drawn sitting on the couch, no details, no features, but feminine and graceful. He had been about to offer before, but now the stakes had been raised.

"I could draw you, Christine," he nearly choked on the words. "If you wished it."

"Would you?" she inched closer to him.

"I would love to," his face felt like it was on fire. "Not, ah, not for _practice_, mind you - just to draw, you know."

"Oh, of course-!"

They talked a little here and there, but much of the day was spent in an intimate silence, Christine posing as she saw fit on the couch, apologizing when she put her feet on the cushions. He had some two dozen drawings by the time he decided to stop - it would never do to have Antoinette walk in on them like that, even if she was fully clothed and merely sitting in an artistic slump on the couch. He didn't know why, exactly, but he felt embarrassed to think of her finding out - he was supposed to be watching over her safety, not having her pose for him.

He motioned for her to come look at the drawings, his heart pounding in his chest. What if she thought they were awful, too?

She came close and leaned in to look at the little sketches and then the bigger drawings he had spent longer on. She gasped.

He felt panic forming.

"Th-they're not done, you see," he stuttered. "I would spend more time on them, when I'm feeling better - they need polishing, I know that - it's just a rough idea right now-"

"They're _beautiful_!" she put her hands over her heart. "Oh, _Erik_!"

He breathed a sigh of relief.

"Really?"

"Really! Oh-! I don't think I've ever looked so lovely!"

Erik blushed and looked away.

"Nonsense. You always look that lovely."

She laughed and swatted a hand at him.

"You're too kind, Monsieur!"

"I'm glad you don't think they're terrible, then," he teased.

"We'll have to do this again!" her eyes sparkled.

"Certainly!" he fidgeted with his pencil.

He felt a glowing sense of triumph - _he_ had succeeded where her previous boyfriend had crashed and burned - _him_! It was a warm feeling that lasted only a moment before it faded, the reminder of all the ways - all the things - her previous boyfriend could surely undertake in far more successful ways than him, and he felt a little hollow to think of it. There were many, many things he couldn't give her, but at least he could give her a good portrait of herself.

He looked down at his hand, frowning. The pencil lay in his palm in two pieces, but he didn't even remember breaking it. He glanced quickly up Christine, but she hadn't even noticed, instead too absorbed in holding up the drawings and studying them. He shoved the pencil into his pocket, hiding it.

Antoinette arrived a little later, and was told that they had spent a simple afternoon relaxing, and she was glad of it.

Erik, for his part, felt a little strange about hiding it all from Antoinette. Well, he wasn't truly hiding it, was he? Besides - what was there even to hide? He wasn't doing anything wrong! Surely not even her fiancé would think so... or would he? There was nothing improper about what they were doing. But did that change because _he_ viewed it differently? If he viewed their secret afternoons spent in music or drawing or deep conversation as intimately as he would view a date, _did_ that make them dates, even if they meant very little to her? He tried not to dwell on it. It would always lead to thoughts he didn't like. Far better to simply enjoy the time spent together, and enjoy it he did.

He hated that her boy had seemingly disappeared without a trace, but he did appreciate the long weeks they had together. He worked tirelessly on his case, despite the lack of leads. Nadir would come over to the office every now and then with a few case files he thought might have any relation to Raoul, spending hours looking over them with Erik and Antoinette. Erik had never _not_ solved a case, and Nadir knew well how it ate at him that he couldn't solve this one.

In those few weeks spent before the masquerade, Erik's favorite moments were those spent alone with Christine. He still held a certain fondness, though, for the times that all four of them spent together in the almost-crowded office.

It was during one of those group moments that something happened which left quite the impression on Erik.

He had never fully explained it to anyone except for Nadir, but he held a large amount of affection for spiders. Not just an admiration or appreciation, but a feeling that bordered on kinship with the little creatures. Most thought them disgusting and vile beasts, but they served an important purpose in the world even so, and they couldn't choose how they looked, they certainly hadn't _asked_ to look so frightening.

Antoinette remembered the first time she'd seen a spider in Erik's presence. They both been sitting at the desk, each one consumed in the details of their files when she had spied the rather large creature crawling towards her.

She muttered a swear and picked up a heavy book, slamming it down on the spider.

Erik had looked up at her, horrified.

"_Antoinette!_"

"It was a spider, Erik."

"It wasn't even doing anything!"

She thought he was joking with her at first, but she could see the very real hurt in his eyes and even with the mask she could tell he was scrunching his face up as though he were a little child about to cry.

She searched for the right words to say. Good heavens, it was a _spider_, why was he so worked up over it?

"I'm- I'm sorry, Erik," she had told him, and though he didn't say anything else on the matter, he had behaved in quite a hurt manner the rest of the day.

So on the day when, with all four of them in the room, Christine gave a little yelp, all the eyes in the room turning to her, and the discovery that she had been frightened by a spider was of immediate interest to everyone.

She waved her hands in a frightened manner, finally grabbing the little cushion the animal had crawled on and flung it to the ground, where the spider bounced off the cushion and sat for a moment, confused, on the floor.

Antoinette stared hard, hoping that Christine would merely flee the vicinity of it and not trod upon it instead. Nadir's eyes went wide, glancing rapidly back forth between Christine and Erik. This was likely not going to end well.

Erik quickly turned away, his shoulders stiff, pretending to be absorbed in what he was reading and trying his best to ignore what was about to happen.

Christine stood quickly, wiggling a little as she looked down on the spider that had crawled next to her on the couch. She grimaced at it and backed away, reaching for a stack of paper.

Erik caught her motion from the corner of his eye, and his heart sank. Of course this would happen. Of course she would swat at it, end it's life. It was hideous, and it had scared her. Who could blame her, really?

But to his surprise, she merely bent over the creature and carefully scooped it up with the papers before swiftly moving to the door and depositing it outside. She had frowned and shuddered the entire time she'd done it, but she had removed it unharmed. He watched her curiously as she sat back down on the couch and rubbed her arms, glaring at the spot the spider had previously occupied.

Nadir and Antoinette turned slowly to look at Erik, who was staring at Christine, mouth agape and dumbfounded.

Christine, meanwhile, picked up a magazine and began to read, still frowning, oblivious to being stared at.

No one said anything on the topic, instead going back to work, but Erik never forgot what had happened that day.


	22. Chapter 22

**Author's Note: a few people have asked and I realized I never mentioned it - this story is set around 1918-1920ish. Big thanks to all my readers and those who commented! 3**

"Are you ready for tonight?" Antoinette glanced at Erik as he sat at the desk.

"You already asked me that not even ten minutes ago," he mused, arching a hidden eyebrow.

Antoinette sighed. She knew Erik was more than capable, yet she couldn't help but fret over his wellbeing.

"You're taking your pistol and not just the lasso, correct?"

"Of course."

She nodded. If all went well, he wouldn't need either one at the masquerade, but it was a mistake to assume all would go well. Anything could happen.

"I'll be happy when this whole thing is over," she muttered.

"As will I... This whole case has absolutely dragged... I've never seen a trail go cold like this, especially not one with _two_ districts looking into it!"

He felt a little guilty as he paused, looking over at Christine on the couch. For all the world she looked to be absorbed in her magazine, but he knew she was listening.

"Hopefully we'll pick up the trail once again," he finally finished.

Antoinette found reasons to linger around the office, even though her workday was technically done. Erik realized what was wrong. He stood and made his way over to stand next to her, reaching out to squeeze her arm.

"I promise I'll be careful," he said, his voice kind. "I'll be perfectly fine, and you'll see me safe and sound tomorrow."

She nodded, smiling just a little.

"It's times like these that make me think of retirement," she laughed lightly. "You and I are both getting too old for this kind of danger."

Erik scoffed.

"Retire? And leave the fate of innocent people up to the likes of _the Daroga_? I think not!"

It drew a chuckle out of her, her shoulders relaxing just a bit.

"Besides," he drew himself up to his full height. "You shan't be rid of me that easily, I assure you. Nothing terrible will happen tonight... Well, nothing terrible will happen to _me_ at least - I make no such promises about what might befall the other partygoers."

Antoinette shook her head.

"Oh Erik. I'll see you tomorrow, then."

Christine was glancing over the edge of her magazine, watching the tender moment between her two caretakers. She was pretending her very best to not be interested in the masquerade that was taking place that very evening.

Erik noted that Christine was oddly quiet as they left. She hadn't even looked at him as he'd said goodbye to her, something that irked him more than it had any right to. But he tried to not take it personally - she was probably still miffed that he had banned her from coming with him to the party. No matter - he'd make it up to her tomorrow by finally having new information that would help them find her boy.

Christine hugged her large book bag to her chest as she walked back to the Girys' home with Antoinette. She felt a nagging sense of guilt in the back of her mind, as though she were lying to Erik somehow, and she didn't like it. But she was certain that this was the right course of action - she couldn't get over the feeling that Raoul going missing was her own fault somehow. She had to set that right, even if Erik didn't understand.

Back at the office, Erik whiled away the time until he could start getting ready. The bright red suit was laid out on his bed, the cape hanging up behind his door.

He set the costume mask on his dresser, glancing at the book he had sitting there - _The Swedish Language For Beginners_ \- and placed the hat next to it.

When he was fully dressed for the evening, he searched in Antoinette's desk drawer for the little mirror she kept there, pointedly ignoring the patch in the back of the drawer that was still covered in mold from the banana he had left there as a prank - a prank that had definitely backfired when, by some horrible stroke of luck, she hadn't found (or smelled) it until it was far, far too late. He had promised to build her a new drawer after that.

He found the little mirror and held it up in front of his face. It was the only mirror in the entire office, and his heart sank as it always did whenever he had to look in one. Sometimes it was easy to forget what he looked like, and it was difficult to be reminded that no matter how he felt he looked, other people would only see _this_.

He didn't look any longer than he needed to, ensuring that the black makeup he had put around his eyes had covered his skin correctly and the mask was fitting properly. He placed the mirror back in the drawer and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He didn't think there could be anything at the party that would require as much strength as looking in the mirror had.

The skull mask was eerily similar to his own face, and he hated it, but he had to admit that objectively it was a very good mask. It had the shape of a nose (because clearly it was made for people who had the privilege of having such things on their face) but the nose was painted black - causing the illusion of not having a nose at all when viewed from straight ahead. What a fun party trick, he mused bitterly.

His costume donned, he set off for the party.

Christine, likewise, was getting dressed. She pinned her hair back, slipped the wig on, and affixed her own mask. She had the brief curiosity of what it must be like to wear a mask every day. She knew it was serious, what she setting out to do tonight, but she couldn't deny her excitement at getting to wear the lovely gown she'd purchased just for this. At last she sat on the bed and put on the new purple heels she'd gotten not that long ago.

Meg came to the doorway, her brow furrowed as she watched her disguised friend.

"Are you sure about this?" she asked her softly.

Christine nodded.

"I'm sure. He's out there, somewhere, and I have to find him."

"Do you think it'll be that easy?"

"I can hope," she rose and hugged her friend. "And thank you for not telling your mother."

"Any time, Chrissy."

Christine snuck out the back door while Meg distracted her mother. Once outside she took a deep breath of the evening air then nervously glanced around her. She hadn't been out alone in so long, and it was a odd mixture of feelings - anxiety and freedom, jumpiness and excitement.

She set off down the road to get to her destination, and as she walked down the deserted streets she kept expecting someone to jump out from the shadows. She let her hand drift to the secret pocket she had sewn into her dress, and to the derringer she had hidden there. She hoped she wouldn't have to use it, but it's cold metal against her hand was a comfort.

She paused in the alleyway that Meg had told her about. A car drove up, and she swallowed hard. But it was only Liam - Meg's on-and-off boyfriend of several years - just as Meg has promised. He smiled and gave a little wave, and she got in the car.

"Thank you for driving me," she told him, and he shrugged good-naturedly.

"Anything for Meg."

He drove her until they were half a block away from the building where the party was being held, and they didn't talk very much on the way. He wasn't certain where she was going, or why, but Meg had asked the favor of him and he was more than happy to help. Christine was grateful that Meg had offered to ask him - while her heels were comfortable enough, she didn't relish the idea of walking so far in them.

"Meg said you might need me to pick you up as well," he glanced back at her. "Here's my number. I'll be up late, so I don't I mind."

"Thank you, Liam," she took the little note and put it in her pocket before she got out of the car.

Liam drove off, and Christine approached the old warehouse that the masquerade was supposedly being held in.

Right before she pushed on one the rusting doors, she was overcome with doubt and fear. Was this the right place? Was she doing the right thing? She almost wanted to run after Liam and have him drive her home. But she pushed ahead - on the door and on her plan.

She blinked in surprise at what was on the other side.

While from the outside the building looked very nearly abandoned, the inside was bustling with life. There were tables of all kinds spread about the middle of the large room - tables with elaborate games set up, tables with drinks and drunks, tables with deceptively simple card games spread across them. At the far end was what looked like a very well stocked bar with dozens of bottles of various alcohols. More than two hundred people were milling about.

She entered the building and lost herself in the buzz of shouts and cloud of cigar smoke.

It wasn't long after that the door opened again and Erik slunk in.

Erik looked out at the sea of faces in the room. While there were a number of people who had done the bare minimum to qualify as "masquerading", there were also a great many who had gone all out like Erik - there were women dressed as flowers and princess and fairies, some with fluffy wigs and faces painted to look like cats, birds, butterflies, there were men as jesters, as clowns, various animals, fancy suits and capes.

He entered the room cautiously, trying to blend in with the revelers, wondering if he would spot Philippe here, when suddenly he saw someone else instead, someone that surprised him.

Edwards.

He was standing near one of the pillars towards the edges of the room, observing the party just as Erik had come to do.

Erik wouldn't have even realized it was him had he not watched as he removed his mask - an imitation of a rat's face held on with a ribbon, it's painted fur the same shade of dark brown as his pinstripe suit - and wiped at his forehead with a handkerchief. Erik couldn't blame him - even with the low lighting, it was still rather hot in the building. He ended up standing next to him in a way that seemed entirely coincidental to any onlooker.

"We meet again, Monsieur," Erik said very quietly, trying to keep his tone courteous despite his lingering bitterness over the man wedging himself into his investigation.

Edwards glanced up, not recognizing him.

"Where did we meet before?"

"It's me, Erik - the private investigator, remember?"

Edwards stared at him a long time.

"Oh," was all he said.

"I'm glad to see you here, actually. For the life of me I couldn't remember if I'd included the memo about the masquerade in he case file, but it appears that I did, after all."

"Yes," he said in a measured tone. "It appears you did."

"Two sets of eyes are better than one, and all that," Erik murmured. "Have you seen Philippe yet? Or found anything suspect?"

Edwards looked out into the crowd and was quiet for a few moments.

"I did find someone, actually. They're about my height, and wearing a monkey costume - a full body suit and mask, just like a monkey..."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, but you see, I lost track of him. I've been following him for a handful of days now, and I'm pretty sure he's our guy. I was going to grab him tonight, but... Do me a favor, will you? You see this guy in the monkey costume - you follow him. Got it?"

Erik nodded.

"Of course. And you really think he's the guy?"

"I know so. No matter what happens - you follow him, okay? As soon as you see him."

Erik nodded again, just slightly peeved.

"Good man," Edwards acknowledged him with a nod of his own. "Now if you don't mind, I've got some business to take care of."

He left with a pat on Erik's shoulder, which Erik didn't know how to feel about.

Look for the monkey, look for Philippe. It seemed an easy enough task. He did wonder, for a moment, what exactly Edwards' other business was, but he realized he simply couldn't stand by the wall all night and instead began to mingle with the crowd.

The first order of business was the bar - nearly everyone had a drink in their hand, and if not, they had three empty ones sitting in front of them at their table.

Erik caught the bartenders attention and called him over to where there fewer people. He leaned in close to the man, as if he were talking him a secret.

"I'd like a glass of water, please," he said quietly.

"Water and whiskey?"

Erik's face turned red under his mask.

"No, just water. Except- ah, could you put an olive on a toothpick and put it in the water?"

The bartender stared at him, but Erik showed no signs of joking around. With a raised eyebrow, he poured a glass of water, put two olives on a toothpick, stuck it in the water, and handed him the glass.

"Here you go, you crazy bastard," he muttered under his breath and shook his head - who ordered water at a speakeasy?

Erik took his sham drink and picked a blackjack table to sit at first - a good table with a clear view of much of the room. It was an easy game he didn't have to pay much attention to, letting him save his focus for other things.

The men at the table nodded to him in greeting. It surprised Erik only momentarily - he wasn't used to such warm welcomes, but of course when every other man was wearing a mask, there was nothing to set him apart from the others.

He hadn't played blackjack in several years - not since Nadir had realized during one of their game nights that Erik was, in fact, counting the cards and ensuring he won almost every hand - but he found that he was able to pick it up with ease again... And that old habits died hard.

"Get a load of Mister Lucky over here," one of the men at the table laughed.

Erik blinked, realizing he had won the last three hands. He cleared his throat and smiled sheepishly.

"Ah, don't jinx me, now, friend," he replied.

He lost the next hand on purpose, to the disappointment of everyone at the table except the dealer.

"There, see-" Erik took a swig of his water. "Beginner's luck, it would seem."

Erik lost the next five hands, and the other men commiserated with him.

"Beginner's luck?" one of the men winced. "More like outta luck. That's rough, buddy."

"Seems to be a common problem at this table," another one grumbled, glancing at the dealer who remained impassive.

"Never know," said the third man. "We all still might get lucky before the night's over - look."

He nodded to a group of several women who were watching the blackjack table, talking and giggling behind their hands.

"Maybe the dames'll be easier than the cards!" he barked a laugh at his own joke.

It took Erik a moment to process what he meant.

"I got dibs on the little bluebird," the first man said, eyeing the women.

"That bunny's just my type," said the third man.

"That clown, though," murmured the second appreciatively, then he nodded to Erik. "How 'bout you? Which one catches your fancy?"

Erik looked up from his cards, dumbstruck.

"I don't- that's not- I don't think-"

The men laughed at his stuttering.

"Aw, don't be like that!" the first man chuckled. "You don't have to hold back here! It's just us men. And we know what makes a man _a man_."

"Yeah, ain't that what makes us human?" the second man chimed in.

Erik sullenly took a sip of his water. If _that_ was what made a man - or even a human - then he was sorely out of luck all around. He felt like an overgrown child sitting there, pretending to drink alcohol, pretending to be an adult, as though maturity and normalcy were the true costume he was wearing.

He glanced miserably at the group of women, trying to remember who had already been mentioned - the very last thing he needed was to get in a sudden fist fight over the "right" to a certain "dame".

The bird, the rabbit, the clown - that left the flower, the ballerina, and the cat.

"The cat," he said gruffly, hoping there would be no follow up questions.

"The cat? Are you kidding me?"

The men burst out laughing again.

"Oh, buddy - you better get your eyes checked!"

Erik stared in dismay - what was wrong with the cat? He had picked nearly at random - he liked her fluffy wig, that was all. He really couldn't see any advantage the other women had over her, though clearly the other men did.

He won the next hand to make himself feel better, then bowed out of the game, not wanting to talk the other men any more.

He continued his search for Philippe, but Christine was the first to spot the Comte.

He slipped in the door, trying to remain unnoticed, but Christine, who was chatting to a women dressed as Little Red Riding Hood as they stood near one of the pillars, happened to see him come in. He had a thin black mask across his face, and a purple cape, but Christine couldn't tell what, exactly, his costume was supposed to be. She knew it was him, though. He had the same curly, messy blonde hair as Raoul. The sight made her heart twist.

She took her leave of the woman and inconspicuously followed behind Philippe. He seemed to know right where he was going, not even caring to stop and play a game or get a drink.

She followed him as he veered away from the party and towards the side of the building where there were rooms that used to be offices at the end of a hallway. She was nervous, but pleased that the layout of the hall seemed to block the offices from view of the party - someone was sure to notice her spying otherwise. Philippe went into the office on the left and closed the door, and Christine thanked her lucky stars that the rusting hinges and rotted doorknob caused the door to bounce off the frame and remain open just a crack.

She felt like she was taking her life into her own hands as she quietly approached as close as she dared and tried to look through the crack in the door.

There was Philippe, and he was facing the door, pulling a large envelope out of his jacket. There was another man there, too, but he was facing away from the door and while this meant he couldn't see her out in the hall, it also meant she couldn't get a look at his face.

"This is all I have right now."

Christine heard the rustle of papers, and peeking through she could see the large envelope being handed to the stranger. The man opened it, counted the money inside, then tossed it to the table with a huff.

"That's not even a third of what you owe."

Philippe looked like he was going to cry.

"I sold nearly all of my horses, I sold _family heirlooms_, irreplaceable items - _please_. I swear I will pay you back in full, but it's going to take _time_."

The stranger shrugged.

"That changes nothing."

"But I'm paying you back! Why do you have to keep him? Let him go - it's been long enough! I promise I'll keep paying, just let him go, please!"

"He'll be returned to you when you've paid in full."

"Do you know how long that will take?! I- I'd have to sell the mansion to make that kind of money all at once, and even then, who would buy it? People would get suspicious, start asking questions - is that what you want?"

The stranger took a step forwards and Philippe flinched back.

"What I want is my money, Philippe. And you better hope people never start looking my way, because that's a one way ticket to never seeing little brother again."

Philippe broke down into a sob.

"I'm trying my best," he cried. "I have to be slow to avoid attention, but at this rate it's going to be _months_-"

"I can wait."

"But Raoul can't! I cant!"

"That doesn't sound like my problem, now, does it?"

Philippe pressed his hands to his face, trying to not hyperventilate.

"Is he okay?" he swallowed thickly around the words. "Is he- is he alright?"

"He's alive," the stranger said after a long pause. "As for anything else, well - you'll just have to ask him when you see him. A little extra incentive, shall we say?"

The man lit a cigarette and took a long puff.

"You said it'll take a long time to get the rest of the cash - how long?" he asked suddenly.

"Five months," Philippe replied miserably.

"Did you factor in the interest?"

Philippe glared at him then looked away.

The man chuckled.

"Go enjoy my party, Philippe. I tell you what - you can have a drink, on the house. How does that sound?" he pulled a few notes of money out of the envelope and held them out to him. "Perhaps you'd like to keep a little to use tonight? Who knows, maybe you'll even win enough to get Raoul back!"

Philippe fumed at how the man laughed as though he'd just heard the funniest joke, and, brushing his offered cash aside, turned to leave.

Christine's heart leapt into her mouth and she hurried away from her hiding place, wishing desperately she could have seen even a glimpse of the other man's face.

She quickly rejoined the party but tried to keep her eye on the room to see if the other man was coming out or not. She wandered over to the bar, where she thought she could sit and not look too suspicious as she watched the room.

"What're you drinking, doll?" a man asked almost immediately.

She turned to look at him, a rather short man, balding, a cigar in his mouth, his eyes bright as he stared at her.

"Oh! Um-"

"They got anything you want here."

She glanced behind the bar and then out to the room before smiling politely at the man in front of her.

"Bee's Knees," she said.

He ordered the drink for her, and she sat on one of the tall stools, thankful that her heels helped to be able to reach the seat of it without much difficulty.

"Here you go," he handed her the drink. "A Bee's Knees for my new honey."

"What happened to your old honey?" she teased as she took the drink, and he laughed.

"What's your costume?" he nodded towards her.

"I'm a princess!" she took a sip, the honey syrup soothing the bite of the gin.

"I'll say you are," he chuckled.

She glanced up the ears attached to his half mask.

"Are you a cat?"

He leaned in close.

"Honey, I'm a wolf."

She giggled, bringing her hand coquettishly to her mouth, glancing away in what he would assume to be shyness but was actually an excuse to look for the man who had been with Philippe. Without having seen either his face or even a mask, it was a difficult task. Perhaps she could try a different approach.

"Say, this drink is swell. The host really went all out here," she began.

"He really did," the man raised his own drink in a toast.

"Have you seen him at all tonight? The host? I wanted to thank him for putting on such a great time."

The man shrugged.

"Haven't seen him."

Christine bit back her disappointment.

"Hey, you oughta come meet some friends of mine, how's that sound?"

She flashed the same smile she had practiced on stage so many times before at the man.

"Sure!"

From the other end of the room, Erik scanned the crowd. He spotted Philippe at the far end of the bar, his face red, slowly sipping on a drink. Erik strategically made his way closer to him, hoping to be able to keep a good eye on him.

On his way there he caught the sound of a woman's laugh that made his blood turn to ice. Was that-

He paused, looking for the source, and finally saw her there at a table with half a dozen men around her, all of them laughing and talking loudly.

He almost didn't recognize her - her golden curls had been traded for what he assumed was a wig of long auburn locks, and the silver mask she wore covered her face from forehead to the bottom of her nose. She was speaking French with an English accent, as though she wasn't a native speaker - and she wasn't, but her Swedish accent was well hidden.

He would never forget what her eyes looked like, however - he would recognize those eyes anywhere... Not to mention those ridiculous purple heels. He had to admit, they did look very nice with her pink and purple chiffon dress, but aesthetic appreciation aside, he was _furious_ to find her here.

Especially considering she was sitting on the lap of some cad. They all looked like they were having a grand old time.

He felt a sharp ache in his chest as he recalled the words he'd heard not long ago, and was starkly reminded that Christine was not like him - she would never be like him. How easily she could flirt, how simple such things were to her, all of this only proved that she lived in a different world than him - he might learn, haltingly, the language of that world, might be allowed to visit, but he would never be fluent, never be a native. He felt a wave of despair as an entire sea of distance seemed to stretch between them before suddenly he remembered what the real problem was in the situation.

_Any of those men might be the one who wrote her ransom note, the one who kidnapped Raoul. Any of the people at the party might._

Erik calmly took a seat at an empty table not very far from them and flagged down a waiter. Not five minutes later that same waiter was approaching the table Christine was at, placing a martini in front of her.

"This is from the gentleman in red," the waiter told her, motioning to Erik. "He said to say it's "from your Angel of Music"."

Erik watched the little exchange, his temples pounding as he saw her mouth drop in shock at his delivered message. It was her, there was no doubt now. She stared across at him, her eyes wide, her body frozen.

_Christine, why?_

She sprang into motion, grabbing the drink and wiggling away from the man dressed as a wolf.

"I'm sorry, boys! Someone needs me for just a moment!"

A round of "aw, no" went up from the men at the table, but they let her leave.

She could feel her hands trembling as she approached Erik. She hastily set her glass down on the table he was at, the men at her former table booing and hissing at him for stealing her away. He stood and came around to stand next to her.

Her eyes darted all over him, taking in his strange outfit and rather frightening mask, noting that he had apparently used makeup to cover the red marks that normally trailed down his jaw and neck. She took a deep breath and looked up at his ridiculous hat, trying to be brave.

"What's your costume supposed-"

"Excuse me, good messieurs," Erik said stiffly to the jeering table, grabbing Christine's arm and pulling her with him.

He stalked away with her until they came upon a hallway far from any other people. He released his grip on her and she backed up, rubbing at the white, finger-shaped marks on her arm. His eyes shone with a fiery spark that nearly frightened her.

"What the devil are you doing here?" he seethed, slowly inching forward even as she blacked away.

"I-I'm just-" she stuttered.

"I cannot believe you came here! I had assumed that you possessed the required brain cells to understand why you needed to keep away but _apparently I was wrong!_ Do you care so little about the safety of your boy that you'd jeopardize him just for a chance to dress up and defy me?"

She crumpled in on herself, her breath hitching and her eyes filling with tears. His reprimands struck the very core of her.

His eyes softened, his posture relaxing. He hadn't meant to make her cry- if she started crying she'd smear her makeup- if her makeup ran she would have to remove her mask-

"Oh, Christine-" he breathed.

He needed to fix this, and quickly. He did the only thing that came to mind, the only thing that he thought might comfort her.

He stooped down and pulled her into a hug.

"I didn't mean to make you cry, poor dear," he whispered to her. "I'm angry that you're in danger, not angry at you."

She nodded and threw her little hands around his neck, finally returning the embrace. She hadn't realized just how much she cared about his opinion of her until she found herself being reproached by him.

Erik was indifferent to hugs on most occasions. He didn't particularly mind them, provided he knew and liked the person they were with, but they were something he almost never sought out on his own for his own benefit.

He was struck, then, by the realization that hugging Christine felt _right_. It wasn't that any previous hug with anyone had felt _wrong_, but he didn't think any of those other embraces could ever compare to the feeling of having her safe in his arms. He would keep her there always, if he could.

"I'm sorry I upset you," he murmured, then pulled away enough to look her in the eye. "But you are too important to me to risk you like that by having you here."

She stared into that pleading yellow gaze as she contemplated his choice of words.

_to me_

Not just too important, not too important to Meg and Antoinette, not too important of a talented singer, not too important to his case, his career - but _to him_.

"To you?" she asked in a trembling whisper, and he took a step back from her.

"You're going to have to stay with me the rest of the night," he went on as though he hadn't heard her question. "You are not to be out of my sight for a single second, do you hear me? I'm sorry if that ruins your plans with- with _Monsieur Wolf_," he waved a dismissive hand and sneered. "But that's just how it has to be."

Her lips quirked a little at the edges. Was he jealous?

"Oh, he didn't mean anything, really. He's-" she hesitated, then jutted her chin forward and said as coldly as she could muster - "he's a _rube_."

Erik stared at her.

"A rube?"

"Yes, that's what he is," she nodded primly. "I was trying to get information from them."

Erik wanted to slam his palm against his face.

"And I found something!"

He paused.

"What?"

"I overheard a conversation, and I heard Philippe say-"

"Oh, _shit_," Erik grabbed her arm again and tugged her with him as went out to look out at the party. "Philippe!"

He had forgotten that he was supposed to be watching Philippe. What if he had missed something critical?

And apparently, he had.

Philippe was gone.

Unbeknownst to Erik and Christine, Philippe had finished his free drink, moped a few minutes at the bar, and then left for his mansion. But all the two knew was that he was gone.

Erik took Christine's hand and they walked swiftly out into the party once more, looking up and down all the rows of games for Philippe, but he was nowhere to be found.

Erik stopped suddenly, Christine bumping into him with surprise.

"What is it?" she whispered. "Do you see him?"

Erik shook his head a little, his eyes not leaving his new prey - the man in the monkey costume.

"That man- I have to follow that man," Erik said under his breath, urgent.

He glanced down at Christine. He couldn't leave her here... It wasn't safe. It wasn't safe to take her with him, either, but...

"Come on," he pushed forwards, Christine in tow.

The monkey lingered by a table for a few moments, watching others play poker. As Erik approached, he began to move away from him, as though he were drawing him out.

It was a full costume, just as Edwards had said it would be. A large, shaggy jumpsuit that zipped up the back, a little red jacket, a large mask that covered his entire head. At the very top sat a little hat that matched the jacket.

Erik and Christine followed him through the party and, lagging behind as much as Erik felt was safe, they followed him outside as well.

Once outside the suspect began to pick up speed. Erik noted for a brief moment just how empty it was around them. Not a single person around to see them, or to hear them.

The man in the monkey suit knew this, too. No one to hear any gunshot, not once they were far enough away from the warehouse where the party was. He hadn't been expecting the girl to follow along too, just the skeleton man, but he had plenty of bullets and he could take care of both them just as his boss had told him to. He turned a corner - this was where he would do it. They'd come around the corner in a handful of seconds, and he'd be waiting, pistol ready to go.

Erik sped up as he watched the man disappear around the corner. He forgot, of course, of just how much height difference he had with Christine. She had to walk twice as fast as he did just to keep up, and his hold on her hand was unrelenting, even as his other hand reached into his jacket for his pistol.

Suddenly his arm was tugged down harshly as a small noise of anguish left Christine. His focus broken, he stopped and looked in confusion at her as she tried to get up off the ground.

She struggled to stand, and once she did her left foot wobbled and she winced.

"I'm fine, it's fine," her voice was quiet and it wavered, and he could see the tears filling her eyes and glinting silver in the dim cast-off light from the street lamps, just like her mask and tiara.

Despite her insistence, he knew she wasn't fine. She'd twisted her ankle - or worse. He _knew_ those damn heels were too tall.

"Let's keep going, please," she pleaded and took a limping, cringing step forward.

Erik sighed deeply.

"No," he said quietly. "We're going home."


	23. Chapter 23

"I'm sorry," she said quietly through her silent tears. "I'm sorry. I spoiled everything."

He shook his head sadly, and reached his hands out for her.

"Can you walk?" he asked softly. "Do you need me to carry you?"

"No," she cringed away from him.

He pulled his hands back, hurt. He had no way of knowing, of course, that she was too embarrassed over how she'd made such a mess of things to have him help her yet again - he merely thought he had caused her to be upset with him (had he pulled her arm too hard? Had he walked too fast and caused her to stumble?), and that she was, perhaps, repulsed at his touch.

She turned and limped awkwardly back towards the building they had just left, wincing with every unsteady step. She knew she should simply ask him for help, but couldn't bring herself to do so. Hadn't she been enough of a burden on him already? He'd lost Philippe at the party because of her, he'd lost the strange monkey man because of her - he quite possibly had lost his only chance of finding Raoul because of her. She couldn't bear the pain and humiliation of it all, tears streaming down her face.

He paused for a long moment, terrified that with each step she'd topple over, but once he sprang forward he caught up to her quickly enough. He kept his distance from her, but tried to stay within an arm's length, ready to catch her just in case. He didn't know why he felt so apologetic to her - after all, she wouldn't have gotten hurt had she stayed home like he asked her to - but she was hurt all the same and it made him feel like he had failed.

It wasn't until she had limped past the building of the the party and out towards the street did Erik suddenly realize something.

"How are you going to get home?" he asked, trying to not sound accusing.

She sniffed hard, her hands clenching into fists.

"How are you going to get home?" she shot right back.

"I was going to walk," he replied.

They were both quiet as she continued her trek down the sidewalk.

"You can't walk all the way back there," he finally said, incredulous.

"I'm not planning to," she still couldn't look at him.

She reached a payphone and he watched, mouth agape, as she pulled a few coins from a pocket along with a scrap of paper and dialed the number that was on it.

"Liam? This is Meg's friend... Yes... Yes, could you? I'm-" she leaned over to look at the street sign. "I'm at the intersection of Rue de Rivoli and Rue du Renard. Thank you!"

Erik stared at her long after she hung up. She could feel his yellow gaze boring into her but she refused to make eye contact.

It was a feeling that only increased as Liam drove up with a cheerful wave and opened the car door for them.

They both sat in the backseat, Liam glancing back at them. His eyes went from Erik to Christine and back again, slowly taking in that something was off - the tension between them was nearly tangible.

"I am sorry," Christine muttered.

"I heard you the first time," Erik replied, and she dabbed a finger at the corner of her eye - she didn't feel forgiven.

"Well," she finally said, looking at him miserably. "What's your costume supposed to be?"

Of all the nerve! Galavanting around, having strange men drive her to forbidden parties, directly disobeying him, putting herself in immense danger - and she wanted to know what his costume was.

"I'm Red Death," he said, not knowing how to say anything else. Her audacity took his words away.

Her lips turned down.

"I don't get it," she pouted.

Erik gestured helplessly towards himself.

"Red Death... Like the story."

"What story?"

"You don't read Poe?" he was feeling flustered now.

Liam glanced back, a big smile on his face.

"Oh! I love his work! Have you read the one about the-" Liam suddenly stopped talking, a single glare from Erik enough to frighten the normally chatty young man into absolute silence.

They rode the rest of the way in silence, and Liam dropped them off right where he had picked Christine up earlier that evening. As soon as they were out of the car, Erik leaned over and hissed a question at her.

"Who the devil was that?"

"Meg's boyfriend!"

"Meg doesn't have a boyfriend!"

"No," she protested. "That's just what she tells people. She's being seeing Liam for years now!"

Erik paused.

"I thought she liked that fellow in the opera chorus."

"She does."

"But-but you just said Liam is-"

Christine shrugged.

"Liam is okay with it..."

Erik put his hands on his hips, considering. He furrowed his brow. This wasn't what they were supposed to be discussing!

"Regardless!" he gave her a stern look. "Do you realize how dangerous what you did was? Do you truly?"

She lowered her gaze, picking at the fingers of her long pale purple gloves.

"Yes," she whispered.

"Do you realize how many opportunities you could have been kidnapped this evening? How many times you could have been killed? How many times you could have been-"

He sighed.

"I am not trying to control you," he said softer. "Anything I ask you - or tell you - to do is for your own safety. Do you not realize this? I am not denying you fun at a party because I'm your overbearing father, it's because-"

"I wasn't looking for fun at a party," she interrupted, her voice breaking even as she stood up to him. "I was looking for Raoul."

Erik was about to retort that it was his job to look for Raoul, but he remembered that he was doing a rather poor job of finding him and held his tongue. He couldn't blame her for getting impatient and trying to take the matter into her own hands. Suddenly he remembered something she had said a little earlier.

"You said you heard Philippe talking?"

She nodded.

"I-"

"Not here," he rushed to say, glancing about them at the darkness. "Tomorrow. Tell me tomorrow. We need to get you home before Antoinette finds out."

She ducked her head. Of course he had realized that she had gone behind Madame Giry's back as well. If she found out... Surely she'd be upset at Erik as well.

They walked back together, slowly but more steadily this time - her ankle ached but she didn't feel in direct danger of falling again. They were both mostly quiet, concerned about who might hear them.

He paused at the edge of their backyard, wanting to reassure her somehow.

"Put your ankle up on a pillow tonight," he whispered. "Keep it raised, that will help it to not swell."

She nodded, but didn't move to leave.

"I'm sorry," she said so quietly that he almost didn't hear.

"I know you only wanted to find your boy, Christine, it's alright," he said gently. "Just try to remember everything you heard Philippe say, and tell me everything tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay... Erik?"

"Hm?"

"Your costume is great... Even if I never read Poe," she smiled a little. "It's quite... Impressive, and a little intimidating!"

He gave a low chuckle.

"Those are two qualities that come naturally to me, my dear," he straightened his red jacket.

She giggled quietly.

"And your mask! This one is so spooky!"

"Oh?"

"Especially in the dark... Why, if you turn your head just right, it makes it look like you have no nose at all!" she shivered. "Ooh! How frightful!"

His smile faltered and he took a step back, looking away from her.

"Goodnight, Christine," he murmured.

"Goodnight, Erik," she said, a little wistful. Why had he pulled away from her?

He disappeared into the shadows, but she knew he was still watching as she carefully unlocked the back door and crept inside.

The house was quiet as she made her way upstairs, but instead of this being a comfort, it only felt like another harsh judgment.

Meg was awake in her bed when Christine entered the room they shared, and she looked up at her with wide, inquiring eyes. Christine only bit her lip and shook her head in reply, quickly changing out of her costume and wanting nothing more than to curl up under a blanket and forget everything.

She still felt moody the next morning when Erik came by to escort her to the opera house.

"How's your ankle?" he asked immediately after the door was closed behind them.

"It's better," she said truthfully. "It's still sore, but I can walk."

She paused, taking in his his sharp eyes were roving over her as they walked to her workplace.

"What is it?" she asked, her face coloring just slightly.

He reached out as though he were going to touch her hair, and her breath hitched at the thought, but instead he only hovered his hand a few inches away from it, caressing the air as he moved his hand in a soft motion around down the side of her head.

"This color suits you," he said warmly, decisively. There was a little smile on his lips.

She lifted an eyebrow.

"You don't like me as a brunette?" she teased.

"No! That's not what I meant!" he looked uneasy for a moment, and it made her want to laugh. "It's just- well, you look lovely either way, but I prefer this, that is all."

you look lovely

Her heart felt warm and full at the words, and she couldn't stop her grin.

"Thank you," she said sincerely.

"So, what exactly did Philippe say? Tell me everything."

Her brow furrowed, thinking hard.

"Well, I saw him from as soon as he came in to the party - or at least, when he came back in to the party, I suppose - anyway, he came in through the door, and he went right to one of those little rooms at the back of the building - I think they used to be offices, when the factory was still up and running - he went in there and tried to close the door, but I guess he was flustered because he didn't even notice it didn't close all the way. I could see through just a little!"

He nodded.

"Who was he talking to?"

"I couldn't really tell," she frowned. "His back was to me the whole time, and it was rather dark..."

"Was he wearing a costume?"

"Not that I could really tell... He had a suit on, a pinstripe suit."

"What color?" Erik tried to remember all of the men he had seen at the party.

"Dark... Blue, maybe? Or brown... Or black," she said sheepishly. "I couldn't tell. I'm sorry."

"It's alright," he shook his head. "What else did you notice about him? What did they say?"

"He was about Philippe's height... Dark hair. Nothing out of the ordinary, I suppose. It was he said that I remember most."

She paused a moment, gathering her thoughts.

"He said it was his party - he must have been the host, or one of them, at least. Philippe owes him money. A terrible lot of money, it seems. And he's the one holding Raoul captive," she looked away, an expression of pain crossing her face before turning hopeful again. "But he's alive, I think. Philippe said it's going to take him five months to finish paying his debt - he's having to sell family heirlooms to afford to do so."

Erik pulled his notebook out of his coat pocket, writing a few notes before flipping through the pages and frowning.

"I didn't know they were so hard pressed for money," Christine added. "They've always seemed to be able to afford anything."

"A gambling debt," Erik muttered, looking at his notes. "And he can't pay it back because-" he flipped the page and raised eyebrow. "Because Raoul put all their money into the opera house."

"What?" Christine's face fell.

"That makes sense, doesn't it?" he waved his notebook. "He owes an inordinate sum to a man who hosts a gambling den, his little brother is being held as ransom, and- said little brother recently invested a surprising amount into the opera house as its newest patron."

Christine placed a hand on her chest. She felt oddly guilty over this - she had encouraged Raoul in his grand plans for the future of the opera house. But she hadn't any clue that the de Chagny's were strapped for money. Apparently, neither did Raoul - she couldn't picture him spending that much money if he knew Philippe had large debts.

"Christine-" he looked at her oddly, tilting his head. "I bet that's why you're involved."

"Why?" her heart was pounding now.

"This man wants his money from Philippe - money that's now being used by the opera house. What better way to get the opera house to pay up than to kidnap their rising star, their big crowd-bringing?"

She shivered and scooted closer to Erik. She didn't like to think of this. The opera house didn't just leave that money lying around - it had already been used up. Much needed renovations and commissioning new writers and directors, the next season had a number of smaller galas coming up that were funded by this money too. If she were to be kidnapped, she'd be in the same position as Raoul, languishing away somewhere for months and months... Or until their captors got tired of keeping them and decided the money wasn't coming anyway. She felt chilled to the bone.

"This changes everything. We're so close to cracking this case now. If you hadn't been there, if you hadn't heard that conversation, Christine-" he stopped walking and turned to look at her. "You might have just saved Raoul's life."

Tears welled up in her eyes at his words.

"Who knows how long it would have taken to discover this otherwise," he mused. "Thank you, Christine."

He reached a hand to squeeze her shoulder in a friendly manner, a gesture he was not familiar with performing. He stood there awkwardly, his hand on her shoulder, and tried to smile before nervousness overcame him and he moved his hand away.

Christine stifled a laugh. She was touched at his gesture, at the effort he had clearly put into it. He was trying, for her, and she appreciated it greatly.

"You'll make a fine detective one day," he chuckled as they resumed their walk, and this time she let herself laugh as well.

She looked up at the blue sky with the occasional puffy white cloud and smiled. All seemed right with the world again. Or as right as it could be without Raoul, at least. She wasn't frightened anymore, but she chose to stay close him anyway, despite being the only two people on the sidewalk.

"I do feel bad that I made you turn back, though," she said after a moment. "You might have actually caught that man last night had I not twisted my ankle."

"Made me?" he stopped again. "Christine, you didn't make me do anything. Turning back was what I chose to do. That's not on you, my dear."

"Well it's not like you had much choice..."

He hummed and started walking again.

"Did I ever tell you," he mused. "About the time I was guarding a man who had to accompany me on my walk to the police station to meet with the Daroga, but the man broke his toe on the way there? He made quite a fuss about it. He made quite a fuss about it for the rest of the walk to the police station, too - and the walk back."

"Erik!" she sounded scandalized but she was smiling. "You made him walk the whole way on a broken toe? That's wicked!"

"He was an annoying ninny, Christine," he waved a dismissive hand. "You'd agree with my decision too if you knew him!"

"I bet you didn't even offer to carry him," she teased, shaking her head.

"Decidedly not," he huffed, then gently added- "That is only for you."

She looked away lest he see the insanely happy grin on her blushing face. In that moment, she didn't care about any of the questions that swirled in her head about their odd relationship. It didn't matter if they ever had anything more than what they had right now - walking together and laughing, sharing stories and each other's company. This right now was enough. They were friends, it seemed, and she hoped they always would be, even when all this was over. It didn't matter if he loved her in the way she'd expect a man to love her, not as long as he kept making her laugh and smiling at her like that.

"Perhaps, ahh, perhaps Antoinette need not know just yet that you were at the party, however," Erik said cautiously.

"Oh! I entirely agree!" she was reluctant to have to face Madame's disappointment - facing Erik's had been hard enough, even if it had turned out well.

"I'm not ask you to lie, of course," Erik added. "I merely believe that unless she asks specifically, there is no need to offer this information."

"Oh, I'd never lie to Madame!"

They both glanced at each other and she broke out into laughter while he chuckled.

"I can't believe I'm encouraging this," he smirked. "As though you needed someone to enable your- your sneakiness."

She gasped.

"I'm not sneaky!"

He huffed a laugh.

"You are, my dear - you're quite sneaky, I'm afraid."

"No, no! I'm not sneaky... I'm stealthy, and there's a difference!"

They worked on the blocking of their newest show that day, Erik following her about on stage while the director and the choreographer glanced nervously at him. If asked, Erik would insist it was for her own personal safety, but she knew at least half of his reason for staying so close was to whisper remarks and opinions on the show to her and to see if he could make her giggle by copying the poses the choreographer put her in. She always had fun at her job, but she couldn't quite remember when she had last had this much fun on stage.

Back at the office, the phone rang.

"Antoinette Giry, Private Investigator," she intoned to the receiver. "How can I help you?"

"This is Police Chief Edwards, is Erik there?"

Antoinette was not in the habit of telling Erik's location, particularly when he was guarding a client, but she saw no reason to keep this information from a law enforcement agent.

"He's at the opera house, why?"


	24. Chapter 24

It was just before their lunch break that a theater attendant came on stage and nervously approached Erik.

"There's a phone call for you at the concierge desk," the young woman said, trying to not cringe away from him too visibly.

"Christine will have to come, too," he glanced down at her next to his side before looking over at the director.

The director nodded hastily, not wanting to quarrel with the man and deciding they could all take off early for lunch.

Erik was relieved to hear Antoinette on the other end of the phone.

"Erik, I just got a call from Edwards. He said that the man he's been following was recently spotted near the opera house."

He looked to Christine, trying to keep his expression neutral. Was the man looking for her?

"He gave me a description and he told me to tell you to keep an eye on where he goes if you see him."

Erik wrote the description in his notebook and thanked Antoinette.

"What was it?" Christine asked, her brow furrowed.

"Nothing to worry about, my dear," he kept his voice even.

Christine tried to put it out of her mind.

"Well, let's go get lunch, then," she said. "That little place around the corner, does that sound okay? Soup and sandwiches?"

"Of course," he nodded.

But they never made it to the cafe, because once outside Erik spotted a man who perfectly matched the description given to him by Antoinette.

"Christine," he whispered harshly. "This is of the utmost importance- we might be in danger. That's the man from the party."

Christine froze as she glanced where Erik nodded.

"Erik," her voice was low and worried. "What do we do?"

The man was loitering around the corner of the opera house, as though he were waiting for someone. He glanced at his watch and pushed off of the wall he was leaning on. He looked around furtively before disappearing into a hidden entrance on the side of the building.

"We follow him," Erik replied.

Christine's heart did a flip but she nodded. She trusted Erik would keep her safe.

She kept close behind him as they crept to the secret door and then inside the tunnel. She shivered a little at how dark it was inside, the only light cast by the lantern that the man had lit as he moved deeper and deeper into the tunnel, taking twists and turns that made her lose her sense of direction.

The sound of their footsteps was almost imperceptible, but the man could tell they were following behind. A bead of sweat rolled down his brow as he tried to keep his pace steady. He took the steep stairs as fast as he could, wanting to get this over with. Three stories under the ground, just like his boss had told him. No one would hear the gunshot down there, and no one would find the bodies. Two more floors to go.

Erik was growing unsettled. Surely the man had to realize by now that he was being followed - which meant they were likely being led into a trap. Every step could be bringing them closer to their doom.

In the last moment of peace they would have in the tunnels, Erik reached out for Christine's hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. She glanced up, realizing he was about to do something, and she held her breath.

Before she could form any other thoughts, the man lurched forward with a yell, falling down the last few steps, dropping the lantern and swearing. It took her a moment to realize Erik had thrown a rope around the man's arm that was stretched out and holding the lantern, pulling him back and causing him to fall.

He rushed down the stairs as the man on the floor fumbled for his gun, but by the time he reached his pocket, Erik already had his own gun pointed at them man.

"Put your weapon on the ground," Erik growled at him, and the man hesitated before complying.

It was the last thing Christine remembered clearly - the rest was forever muddled together in her memory as if a frightful haze.

There was another man waiting in the shadows, one who had run up from a lower level to see what the commotion was about, one who was clearly caught off guard by the fight happening so soon.

Christine leapt off of the stairs, grabbing an old shovel that the opera workers had left. She kicked the discarded gun to slide it across the floor and behind her, far out of reach of the man who now scrambled up and tried to lunge for his weapon while Erik was distracted by his own scuffle with the newcomer. The man tried to grab her to throw her aside and get to his gun. Christine swung the shovel at him, and though he dodged it, he was prevented from getting his gun.

Six gunshots rang out and deafened her, and she dropped to the ground with a scream. It took her an agonizing minute to realize that she hadn't been shot at all - though she didn't realize it at the time, the newcomer had tried to shoot Erik in the chest, but Erik's hands had been to quick for him. He grabbed the man's hand and overpowered him, pointing the gun at the ceiling, the shot meant for Erik instead hitting the wood rafters above them. The man struggled and fought, but Erik was stronger and squeezed his hand around the trigger five more times, emptying the gun into the ceiling.

The man threw the empty gun to the ground and tried to punch Erik, a hit Erik mostly was able to dodge though his fist did make slight contact with the side of his face.

There was a clatter as though something fell to the ground, and the man let out a loud swear that was cut short when Erik kicked him squarely in the knee and he buckled over, passing out from the pain.

Erik turned to grab the man who was fighting Christine for control of the shovel, turning him around and punching him hard in the face. He dropped to the ground, and Christine let the shovel fall from her bruised and scraped hands. She was about to thank Erik when the words died on her tongue as she looked at him. She felt suddenly numb and cold all over.

There was something wrong with Erik.

It was only after both assaillants were subdued that Erik realized his mask had been knocked off in the scuffle. The adrenaline in his system only spiked at this realization, and he suddenly had the sickly feeling of watching the scene unfold from someplace far away. Unable to stop himself, he glanced at Christine, hoping in vain that she hadn't seen.

She had seen. Oh, how she had seen. She was staring, her face white as a sheet, and though a small part him knew that part of that could have been from having to fight for her life, he was not so foolish as to think that his own face didn't play a large part in it as well.

His face. He belatedly put his hands over it and turned away, trying to hide what she'd already seen, what her wide eyes still flickered over in gaping horror.

It was over now. Whatever budding friendship they had had, whatever tremulous feelings had been starting to form between them, it was certainly shattered now like glass under a sledgehammer. She wouldn't be able to bear to be around him now that she knew what he truly looked like.

He fell to his knees, not even feeling the flare of pain or hearing the loud crack as they made contact with the ground.

He had tried so hard, been so meticulous. Nadir was the only person in all of Paris who actually knew. Not even Antoinette knew. Christine would probably tell her, of course. Christine might tell anyone. Everyone.

"Erik?"

He couldn't hear her concerned voice, too lost in his own mind. The lighting was low, he was thankful for that, but still - she had seen. He felts waves of nausea come over him.

Christine had mostly recovered from her surprise. She had been horrified at first, her fright addled mind thinking that the way his face looked was a direct result of the fight with these men - had they done this to him? Was he going to die because of it? Was he in terrible pain? - and she had nearly felt her vision blacken as she looked. Thankfully, rational thought crept in. He wore a mask for a reason, and this must be it. She wasn't dumb - she had known that the harsh red marks that trailed down his neck were likely spread across his face as well. It was merely... The rest of it that she wasn't aware of. The lack of a nose was... Unexpected. But she didn't have more than a few moments to remark over this before he crumpled to the ground.

"Erik! Are you hurt?"

She didn't think it was possible for her heart to go any faster, yet the thought of Erik being hurt managed to do so. She shoved herself off of the wall she had been leaning against and ran the short distance to his side. He wouldn't take his hands off of his face and wouldn't answer her. But he didn't seem to injured from she could tell.

She kneeled beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder, shaking him.

"Erik, are you alright? Do- do you need a doctor? Are you okay?"

He merely cringed away from her touch and pressed his hands into face harder. She realized that the whining noises he was making were because he was crying.

Oh.

She scrambled to her feet and searched the room for his mask. When she found it she brought it over and sat down next to him where he was huddled against the wall.

"Erik," she tried to find the balance between quiet enough to be soothing and loud enough to catch his attention that was obviously elsewhere. "Erik, look, I found it."

He turned away from her and only then did he reach back to take the mask from her hands. He slipped it on, not bothering to wipe away the tears on his terribly sunken cheeks. Once it was on he placed his hands over the mask as they had been on his bare face, as though to ensure that it wouldn't fall again, or perhaps as another layer of protection added far too late.

Vaguely his mind registered that Christine was still there, but he had no idea why she had stayed. It made no sense. Perhaps he was imagining it. He could think of no other realistic explanation for her still being there, for her to come closer to him when he had no mask on, for her to now be wrapping her arms around him and leaning her head on his shoulder.

"It's alright, Erik," she murmured. "Everything is alright."

She stayed there with him until his sobs lessened into just crying. She wondered at the kind of experiences he'd had before to make him react like this, what kind of life he'd led. It was surely embarrassing to suddenly be exposed against his wishes, but for him to be brought to his knees like that - it made her heart ache to see him suffer so, and she didn't know what to do about it, how to reassure him that whatever trauma he had gone through in the past would not happen again, not if she had anything to say about it. She didn't know if he liked being hugged, but when she had been upset the previous day, it was the first thing he had done, so she figured she would return the favor.

She paused her steady stream of soft reassurances to glance over at the unconscious men on the floor.

"I don't mean to rush... whatever this is, but those men are going to wake up eventually and we need to be ready for when they do."

Oh, of course. Now it made sense to Erik. Christine didn't know the way out of the tunnels and she needed him to show her or else she'd be trapped down here. He sniffed, trying to will himself to stop crying.

Her honeyed words were a mere ploy to ensure her own safety. He knew she was frightened of the dark, but she must be more terrified than he had realized to cling to him - him! the monster, the thing lurking in the dark! - in such a way. He grabbed her wrists and gently but firmly pried her away from him. She would say whatever she needed to in order to get of this place, and he didn't blame her in the least.

He stood without a word, trying to ignore the shakiness of his legs, and grabbed more ropes out of a pocket in his coat. He made quick work of dragging the unconscious men to a post and wrapping the rope around them, tying the knot in such a way that they wouldn't be able to untie it should they wake before the police came.

He stooped down to pick up the lantern, not bothering to glance backwards at Christine. He could hear her getting up off the ground and jog to his side.

"Erik? A-are you okay?"

She tentatively reached a hand out to his arm. He said nothing, but he left her hand there.

"Erik, please say something," she begged.

He resolutely refused to look at her, could not see how close to tears she was herself, how she looked up at him with such heartbreaking concern.

"I am sorry, Christine, that you had to see that."

His words sounded hollow and his voice strained. She squeezed her hand on his arm.

"Your face doesn't make any difference to me. It doesn't matter."

How could it not matter though? She said that now, when she was still hopelessly lost without him, when he had the only source of light in this never ending darkness. But when they got to the top again, when she was free once more, then it would be a different tune, he was certain of it.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, still not looking at her.

"No," she said, then looked at her own hands as she stretched them in front of her. "Well, my hands got scratched a little. And I think I bruised my, er... hip, when I got pushed down, but other than that..."

He nodded brusquely.

No more words were exchanged between them. Her mind kept turning to what she had seen. It unsettled her, not just his actual face but his reaction to having seen it. She'd seen him in his mask for so long it had just seemed a part of him, and that alone was strange, suddenly seeing him without it.

But she hadn't lied - not really. It didn't change how she felt about him. It was just another part of him, one she hadn't seen before, but honestly - she should have expected it. Most people wouldn't wear a mask to simply hide some discolored markings. She wished he'd just look at her.

Once up in the sunlight, he immediately went inside to the concierge and called the police, Christine trailing close behind him though he pretended not to notice her.

After the call to the police, he dialed the number for Antoinette and briefly informed her of what had happened.

The few opera house employees who heard the call sent out a sea of whispers among themselves, and by the time the police arrived there was a small crowd of both employees and performers who had come out to watch.

More than half a dozen officers arrived, plus Nadir and Edwards. The two exchanged a funny look.

"I'll take them," Edwards immediately said, sounding irritated.

Nadir shook his head.

"The opera house is under my jurisdiction - they'll be coming with me."

"The de Chagny case is being handled by my department," Edwards insisted. "That means I'll be taking them."

Nadir wanted to argue, but he caught a glimpse of a very shellshocked looking Erik nearby. He waved a dismissive hand at Edwards and went to check on his friend.

"Erik, are you okay?" he asked gently.

"Watch Christine," was his only reply as he left the two of them standing there.

Nadir raised an eyebrow as he watched him go, then looked down to Christine.

"Are you okay, Mademoiselle?" he asked her.

"Yes," she nodded. "I'm fine... I think."

She wrapped her arms around herself, wishing Erik was still next to her. She watched as he explained to the officers what had happened in the tunnels.

When the police needed to be shown down through the tunnel, Christine moved as though to go with them. Erik put out a hand and stopped her.

"There is no need for you to go as well. You're to stay up here."

"Oh."

He certainly did not want to have to be in that same room with her again, be reminded of what had happened there.

The men, now awake, were marched - the one limping heavily - into Edwards' police car as he watched them, his hands on his hips and a disgusted look on his face. The men looked dolefully at him, as though he were to blame somehow.

When the police had finally carted the men off and the small crowd had dissipated, Erik and Christine were all that were left, standing out on the sidewalk in the mid afternoon sunlight, the events that had transpired underneath the ground seeming like a bad dream.

"I imagine you'll want to be going home. You need to rest after all that," Erik said, not meeting her gaze.

She nodded. The director, upon hearing what had happened, had canceled the rest of the rehearsal for the day.

"Rest sounds good," she hesitated. "What about you? Are you going to be okay?"

"You don't need to worry for me, Christine."

The rest of the walk to Giry's house was silent.

When they arrived on the doorstep Christine stopped and turned to him.

"Erik, down there... After, when you said you were sorry that- that I had to see you like that..."

His heart was pounding in his ears. Why was she bringing this up again? Was it not bad enough to have had to live through it once?

"I just wanted to say that I'm sorry, too," she said sadly. "I'm sorry that it happened to you like that, that your choice got taken away. It should have been up to you, how or when - or if - you wanted to show your face. And I'm sorry that it wasn't. We... we don't... No one else has to know that that happened, if you don't want them to know. I won't say anything to anyone. And I meant what I said down there, too. This doesn't change anything between us, okay?"

They were words he didn't even realize he needed to hear. They seemed so genuine, so real, that he could feel the tears threatening his eyes once more.

"Thank you, Christine," his voice was thick with emotion.

He still didn't know if she was being entirely truthful, but her words were so sweet that for just that moment, he would pretend that she meant it.

She stood on the stoop and watched as he walked away, watched until he turned the corner and was out of view. She took a deep, shuddering breath as the realization finally hit her.

She had wondered for a long time, of course, but when they were in the basement, when she thought perhaps he had been injured, had been stabbed and was about to bleed out, when she thought that there was a very real chance she was about to lose him - and then the rush of relief when she realized he wasn't dying - and then the painful twist as she saw him so broken, and she felt the longing to comfort him, to protect him-

She didn't have to wonder anymore. She knew.

She fumbled with the key in the lock and once inside closed the door with trembling hands. She tried to blink away the sudden blurriness in her vision, shoulders sagging under the bone deep weariness that had set in.

Antoinette found her then, and frowned at the sight of her rubbing at her tearful eyes with shaking fingers.

"Christine, my dear, what's wrong?" Antoinette hugged her close.

Christine returned the embrace, pulling tightly to her. She pressed her face into Antoinette's shoulder, her words muffled when she finally said them.

"I love him, Madame."


	25. Chapter 25

Antoinette squeezed her a little tighter.

"Oh, Christine," she sighed. "What do you mean, dear?"

Christine pulled back from her, her expression confused but her words spoken with a resolve that surprised even herself.

"I'm in love with Erik."

Antoinette's heart sank for her. She smiled sadly and nodded.

"Why don't you go sit on the couch, dear, and I'll make some tea for us and we can talk about this, okay?"

Christine went to the living room in a daze. In a few moments Antoinette joined her, carrying a tea tray which she set on the little table next to them.

She sat down next to Christine with a heavy sigh.

"I think, my dear, that it's important to manage your expectations in regards to Erik. I know that you can't help how you feel, but you must keep in mind that neither can he. It's not something you can take personally, Christine - Erik just isn't like most other people when it comes physical affection. It's nothing to do with you at all, it's just how he's wired, dear. Does that make sense?"

Christine nodded, keeping her eyes on her teacup.

"And you can't expect that to change for him, either. There won't be any magical moment that he realizes all he needed was the 'right one' to change how he feels about physical relationships. It just doesn't work that way. If you're considering being serious about him - or about having a life with him - that's something you'll have to accept without any resentment."

"Does he not like to be touched at all, then?" Christine asked in a small voice, suddenly afraid that she had done something wrong when she had hugged him after he had been unmasked.

Antoinette tilted her head, thinking for a moment.

"No," she said finally. "I don't think I'd go so far as to say that. He does typically try to avoid touching people, but that has more to do with self-consciousness over his cold hands than anything else. But he doesn't have that problem with Nadir or me or anyone else he knows well. He has hugged me on occasion, as well, so I wouldn't say he's entirely adverse to touching. I've never seen him kiss anyone, though, nor seen anyone kiss him. You'd have to ask him yourself what he feels about all that, I'm afraid, but I wouldn't count on it being something he enjoys."

A thought occurred to Christine. Madame and Erik were close in age, and they had worked together for so long, and they didget along so well... And she seemed to know quite a lot on this subject about him.

"Madame, have you and he ever-" she could feel her face coloring, and she quickly regretted asking, but the question was practically already out there and she might as well finish it. "- shared feelings?" she squeaked, horribly embarrassed by herself.

Antoinette choked on her tea and grimaced.

"Goodness, no! No, no," she shook her head. "It's not like that between us - it never has been, either. I love him, of course - but he's like a brother to me, and I know he thinks of me as a sister, too."

"I didn't mean- it's just- well I didn't know if maybe you knew all this about him from- er, personal experience," Christine rushed to explain.

Antoinette chuckled.

"No, not quite. We haven't really discussed it at length, but he did explain it a little to me a while back after he turned down the advances of a rather lovely woman. We were out at a bar with Nadir and this woman approached Erik, you see, and he flat out sent her away! Nadir teased him endlessly about it, and I gave him a little grief over it, too. Apparently we hit a nerve with him because he felt the need to logically and systematically lay out the reasons he saw no point in flirting or in dating anyone, saying that even if by some miraculous chance she wasn't repulsed by what was under his mask, she'd be terribly disappointed in his lack of, ah, desire."

She raised an eyebrow at the memory.

"He was quite surly about it, actually. And we felt badly, of course, because we were rather to blame for his mood and we knew it. The poor man. We couldn't even blame his mood on having too much to drink - he only had a club soda. But he explained, and we understood as best we could, and all was forgiven."

There was a pause before she continued.

"I've known him for ten years, Christine, and in those ten years I've never seen him give the slightest interest in forming a romantic relationship with anyone," she told her gently. "If you do decide to approach him with how you feel about him, you're going to have to be prepared for being turned down as the most likely outcome."

Christine nodded. It was a lot to think about.

"Does- does he not want to have a person around him who loves him, then? I know he isn't interested in a- a physicalrelationship," her face burned and she stuttered, but she had to ask, had to know. "But- but what about just a purely romantictype of relationship?"

Antoinette stirred her tea, considering Christine's question for a long moment.

"I think," she said slowly. "That he just wants to be loved for himself. But that's not easy for him to find, you know. Acceptance is not something most people grant freely to him. But I couldn't say with certainty what he wants out of a relationship, or if he even wants one at all. Those are questions whose answers you could only get from him. Anything I could say beyond what he's already told me on the matter would only be guesses."

"Thank you, Madame," she said gratefully. "I appreciate it."

She stayed and talked to Christine about other, lighter topics for a while longer. After that Christine went upstairs and prompted Meg for the latest stage gossip, eager to find something for her mind to focus on.

But still her thoughts continually turned to Erik - poor Erik, unmasked against his will and now all alone.

"La Carlotta is demanding they tear down some of the walls between her dressing room and the one next to it so it can all be one giant room just for her," Meg rolled her eyes.

Was he okay?

"Isabell and Peter are back from their honeymoon, and wouldn't you know it? Isabell has asked for some time off for personal health matters - five months off, to be exact. Five. I guess that explains to rush to elope, then. I just hope the baby has his hair and her eyes - that will be so adorable!"

Would he remember to eat something?

"The elastic came off of my pointe shoes today, and I just know it was Colette who sabotaged them," Meg sniffed. "I went up to do a pirouette and the next thing I know I'm falling over because my shoe is coming off! I could have broken a bone or snapped a tendon! I showed her, though - I went to the chemist and asked for an oil that could remove hair - and I put some on all of her brushes and combs. Let's see how superior she feels when she's bald!"

What must he be feeling? Nothing worked. The thought of him was like an ache in her chest that nothing alleviated. Finally she hugged Meg and went back downstairs.

She crept into the living room once more, tapping her fingers together as she tried to think of how to explain herself.

"Madame," she said in a small voice, prompting Antoinette to glance up from the book she was reading.

"Madame, something happened today, and..."

Antoinette set the book aside, concerned.

"And everything will be okay, I think, but-" she wiped a tear away and continued in a whisper. "But I'm worried about Erik."

"Oh, dearest, what happened? What's wrong?"

She had told Erik that she wouldn't tell anyone what happened down in the tunnel, and she intended to keep her word if she could.

She looked down at her feet, not wanting to lie to the woman who was almost like a mother to her, but not wanting to betray the man she now realized she loved.

"I don't really want to talk about it, but- it was a very... trying day, emotionally, and I just- I don't think he should be alone right now. Do you think it would be alright if I went to stay with him tonight?"

An awkward silence pressed down on Christine. Antoinette was about to answer, but Christine cut her off with a hasty defense.

"I'm not going to tell him anything about- about what we talked about earlier. It's nothing like that. It's just- well, you know how he forgets to take care of himself sometimes," she smiled weakly. "I think he could use some dinner, and some company."

Antoinette smiled at her.

"Of course, dear."

Christine breathed a sigh of relief. She wouldn't feel right until she was there with him, until she knew he was okay. The need to see him - and soon - grew with every passing moment, as though there were a deadline she was rushing to make, a timer counting down until it would be too late.

"Do you think we could stop by a restaurant on the way there and order some food to take to him?" she asked hopefully.

Antoinette placed an arm around Christine's shoulders as they walked to the front door.

"I think that's an absolutely lovely idea, Christine."

By the time Erik made it back to his apartment, he felt hollow inside. Away from Christine's sweet lies, the truth began to taunt him.

This won't change anything between us, Erik

Lies.

And now she knew the truth, too. That he was not her Angel of Music, that he could never be that. How could he have even dared to let her entertain that thought, when he was a demon? Perhaps it was because he was a demon.

Every time he closed his eyes, her face was all he could see. Her face, and that expression. That expression he had seen so often before, in the crowds that came to see him as a child, in the Shah's court, in Luciana's face before she-

And now Christine. Even Christine. Had he expected anything different?

But still - surely he had the better end of this deal - because almost certainly right now whenever Christine closed her eyes, she saw him.

He could just picture how it was going to go down tomorrow. Antoinette would drop by and thank him for all of his help and politely inform him that his services were no longer needed in watching Christine. She would make up some excuse, perhaps, that Christine's schedule had changed, or that she needed Erik to focus on some other case she'd make up for the sole purpose of distracting him, but he would know the truth.

The need to be able to take something to make all of this fade away had not hit him this hard in years. He knew for a fact that Antoinette kept the office quite clear of any kind of alcohol. Perhaps he would have to go to a bar. Ah, but there would be peoplein a bar. Well, the stores were still open, he could buy any assortment of bottles there and bring them back here to imbibe in solitude. He longed for the effects of something much stronger, but was surprised to find that he didn't quite hate himself enough to put himself through all that again. Where had he found the nerve to actually care a shred for his own wellbeing? He chuckled wryly.

Still, he decided he would go to the store, buy a handful of whatever looked nice, bring them back here, get spectacularly drunk and hopefully wake up with no memory of the entire day before.

He had just shrugged his coat back on when a knock came at the door.

Odd. He had locked both doors, so whoever got through the first one must have the keys, yet they knocked instead.

It must be Antoinette, he thought to himself as he went to open it. They must not have wanted to waste any time in telling me Christine no longer wishes to be in my care - perhaps it's Antoinette here to tell me she longer wishes to have me as a partner, maybe she's here to turn me out of the apartment, I'll have to pack quickly, hopefully I can come back for the organ, presuming she doesn't burn it down the second I'm out the door-

He swung the door open, unarmed and uncaring, expecting to find a stern Antoinette - or perhaps some strange intruder who picked locks and knocked to announce themselves.

But it was Christine.

He stopped and stared down at her, unsure what to make of her presence there on his doorstep, looking up at him hopefully with a paper bag in her hands.

"Christine," he said.

She smiled at him, then she took in his state of dress and her smile began to fade.

"Oh! Were you on your way out? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt if you had somewhere you needed to be," she twisted the handles of the paper bag in her hands.

He hesitated only a moment.

"No, I wasn't going anywhere," he took a step back and opened the door wider. "You can come in, if you like. Do you need something?"

He felt like his mind had blown a fuse. Christine, here, with him - it made no sense.

She smiled hopefully once again, pushing a stray piece of hair away from her face.

"Well, I thought that maybe you wouldn't feel up to cooking very much tonight, so I- I brought you dinner... If you'd like it, that is."

She handed the bag to him, and he was careful to not let his fingers brush against hers.

"Thank you," his tongue felt too slow, but his surprise was quickly replaced by something else.

"Christine," he said firmly. "Did you go out by yourself to buy this and then come here?"

Her eyes went wide and she shook her head.

"No! Antoinette is just outside, she was with me the whole time," she insisted.

He nodded brusquely.

"Good."

He took the bag over to the desk and set it there, all too aware of her eyes still following him.

"Did- did you need anything else?" he hated the waver, that tremulous hope he could hear in his own voice.

"Actually, I was just wondering," she looked down at her feet. "Would you - would you like some company while you eat?"

He was silent a long moment, trying to understand what exactly she was getting at.

"Is Antoinette coming in, too?"

"No," she said softly.

He paused.

"Christine," he warned her. "If Antoinette leaves and you stay here for dinner, I highly doubt she's going to come back to pick you up and take you home again. I'm far too tired to take you back myself, either."

His words hung in the air and he looked at her cautiously. She nodded.

"You'll have to stay here, all night. With me," he insisted, trying to make sure she understood.

"I know."

She shifted uncomfortably on her feet. Perhaps this had been a bad idea after all.

"If you'd rather be alone, I completely understand, Erik-"

"You can stay, if you like," he swallowed hard and turned away.

"Let me go inform Madame! I'll be right back!"

She rushed out the door, leaving Erik to huff at the suddenness of it all.

Antoinette raised a brow at Christine, who barreled out the second door.

"He said yes," she told her breathlessly, and Antoinette gave a little laugh.

She handed Christine the second bag of food and placed her palm over the girl's cheek.

"I'll be by in the morning, Christine. Enjoy your dinner and your night, dearest."

She waited until she saw Christine close the second door before she locked the first once again and started on her way home.

Antoinette watched as the sun slowly started its descent. There were still a decent number of people milling about, hurrying this way and that to finish their errands before the day's end. The click of her heels against the pavement added to the symphony of urban noises all around her, and she let her mind drift towards the two people she had left behind in the office, cocooned away from the hustle and bustle of the outside world. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, sending up a silent prayer that somewhere down the line, regardless of if it was together or not, both of her dear friends would find the happiness that they so deserved.


	26. Chapter 26

Erik blinked at the second bag she was carrying with her. She pulled up a second chair to the desk, directly across from Erik and sat down in it, pulling a box of food out of the bag.

"We are to dine together, then?" he asked, unwrapping his own food.

She raised an eyebrow.

"Well, did you think I was just going to sit here and stare at you as you ate?"

"I didn't think you were going to be here at all," he murmured.

He opened the box, shocked when he saw the contents - long thin noodles in a rich, creamy sauce. He looked up at Christine.

"How did you know?"

"What?" she was confused.

"The fettuccine alfredo - it's my favorite Italian dish. How did you know?"

Her cheeks tinted and she ducked her head.

"Oh. I didn't know. I ordered it because it's my favorite," she twisted the pasta around on her fork, too shy to look at him.

He couldn't help the smile that formed on his lips.

"You know, I used to live in Italy during my younger teen years, and whenever I had the opportunity, this is what I would eat as often as I could."

"Is that so? I must say, I'm quite surprised," she glanced up, eyes twinkling.

"That I lived in Italy?"

"No, that you used to willingly eat food," she teased.

"Well, you know what they say - teenagers make the strangest of choices sometimes, it has something to do with how their minds aren't fully formed yet," he twirled the fork in a small circle. "Luckily, my dear, I eventually grew some sense in my later years."

Her giggle was music to his ears. The familiar term of endearment had slipped out accidentally, but he didn't regret it, not when she was looking at him that way with such joy in her eyes. He felt his heart skip a beat. It seemed so impossible, but she was there with him, mere feet away, fully aware of what was behind the mask - and she was giggling! She was happy, happy sitting there gazing up at such a monster, willingly choosing to be there of her own free will because she wanted to, actually enjoying his company. He almost couldn't take it. It took nearly all his effort to not fall at her feet and weep over her goodness.

"Christine," he asked curiously. "What were you going to do if I had asked to be alone tonight?"

"I was just going to leave, I suppose... That's why I had Antoinette hold my food with her outside... I didn't want to guilt you into letting me stay."

"Guilt me?"

"Well, it would be terribly awkward for you if you saw me standing there with my own dinner in hand, only to slam the door in my face, wouldn't it?"

He huffed a laugh at the image.

"I do suppose you're right."

They continued eating in silence, until Erik simply couldn't hold the question back any longer.

"Why did you come here tonight? You didn't have to, yet you did."

She paused, looking thoughtfully at her plate before raising her eyes to meet his.

"Because I didn't want you to be alone," she said simply.

"And what's so bad about being alone?" he retorted.

She replied promptly, propping her elbow on the table and resting her chin on her hand.

"You tell me what's so bad about it, Erik - you're the one who wanted me stay. You didn't have to, but you did. Why?"

His eyes widened.

because I didn't want to be alone

He cleared his throat and changed the subject.

"Have you ever tried this dish with chicken mixed in? It's quiet good."

"No, I haven't. We'll have to try it that way next time."

The way she mentioned the next time so casually made his heart twist. He swallowed back any reply, knowing that he wouldn't be able to form words without them being drowned in emotion.

His mind recounted in detail every step he had taken after arriving home. If he hadn't paused to check the clock on the wall, or if he hadn't wandered downstairs to look forlornly at the organ, if he had decided on his reckless course of self-destruction just a few moments earlier - he would have been out buying liquor when precious Christine came and knocked on his door. She would have stood there, his favorite meal in hand, staring at the locked door and thinking he was ignoring her. She would have left, feeling embarrassed and silly, and she would have been long gone by the time he had come back. He would have sat there, wallowing in self pity and slowly poisoning himself in an attempt to forget reality while dear little Christine returned to the Girys' with far too much pasta on her hands and far too much hurt in her heart inflicted by him. His head spun just to think of how close this dinner had come to not happening.

If he had blacked out and forgotten this day, forgotten that Christine had seen his face, he wouldn't have known just how miraculous her continued presence around him was. But this - to know that she had seen, and to have her not treat him any differently? He could scarcely fathom it.

He glanced up at her, finding she was already looking at him. She smiled widely, but it wasn't a forced smile. It was the kind that crept across her face almost against her will, made the corners of her eyes crinkle, made her whole countenance radiate joy and some emotion he dare not name.

"You're awfully happy tonight, Christine. What ever for?"

That quirk of her lips that she just couldn't stop. She swallowed her food, hand over her mouth to keep from laughing.

She couldn't tell him, of course. Couldn't tell him that she was happy just to be there with him, laughing and joking just as they had in the times before his unmasking. Couldn't tell him that she was pleased to be sharing dinner with him during a time when he wasn't just doing his job, that she almost, almost could consider this a date of sorts, if he wanted to consider it that too. Couldn't tell him about the sense of peace that came with finally having a word to call the feelings she felt for her strange Angel. Certainly couldn't tell him about how darling she thought he was.

"I am just happy, that's all. I feel like we're so much closer to finding Raoul now - Edwards will surely get those men to crack, and once they do it can't be very much longer until he's back safe and sound."

Ah. Raoul. Of course. He should have known. Of course she was looking forward to the end of this case, to getting her boy back - to not having to be watched every second of every day. To not being around Erik.

Perhaps, he realized, it was unfair to accuse her of wanting to not be around him anymore when she herself had initiated their evening together. But still, it was undeniable that getting Raoul back meant she would barely be around Erik anymore - after all, what use did a girl have for an Angel when she had a husband? Maybe if he was lucky and he played his cards right, he could get an invitation to the wedding.

He was briefly uncomfortable with the thought of what Raoul would think should he find out his Christine had stayed the night with another man. Of course the concept of anything happening was so far removed from the realm of possibility that it reached the point of utter absurdity, but hopefully this Raoul was understanding and not the jealous type.

He felt a wave of guilt over the thought that maybe, just maybe, it wasn't about whether or not anything happened, but about how he felt about her instead. Was it wicked of him to have her here with him when he felt things - not those things, but things all the same - for her? Did it count as cheating if he was in love with her, if this evening felt as intimate to him as a date?

He tried not to think about it. Raoul would never find out, and Christine surely wouldn't see it as anything other than innocent.

But he didn't want to think of Raoul, not tonight, and it seemed Christine didn't either because she didn't mention him again.

"Ah, I can bring an extra pillow and blanket down for you, to make the couch a little more comfortable," he said awkwardly after dinner was finished.

"Do you always go to bed so early?" she asked, surprised - it was hardly late at all.

Erik cleared his throat.

"I was not aware of when most people go to sleep... My own sleep schedule is rather- varied, but I did not wish to keep you up if you were tired..."

"I'm not tired," she smiled. "Not yet anyway. But don't stay up on my account! I know it was a stressful day..."

She ducked her head as she trailed off, suddenly embarrassed at having it brought up again.

"I typically don't sleep well after such action, so I typically just... Don't sleep," he shrugged. "I will stay up as long as you wish."

"Do you have any games, or a deck of cards?" she asked. "I want something to take my mind off those awful men, but I don't feel up to singing."

"Meg keeps all sorts of games around here," Erik began to search for them. "She makes it her personal mission to coerce me into playing some sort of nonsense with her at least once a month..."

She settled herself on the couch as Erik brought over a number of brightly colored little boxes.

"Which nonsense are we going to try tonight?" she giggled.

"Entirely up to you, my dear."

"Oh, don't you want to pick one that you're really good at so you can impress me?" she teased lightly.

Erik considered this as he sat across from her on the couch.

"I'm quite confident in my ability to impress you with any of these games," he shrugged.

She laughed and picked out a card game, which kept them occupied for a handful of hours. They kept up a surprisingly cheerful banter considering what all they had been through that day, and Erik marveled at his sheer luck. This certainly beat long, angsty nights spent at his organ or nervously trying to avoid sleep and the inevitable nightmares, he thought.

Christine's mind was busy that evening. Madame Giry had said she'd likely be turned down, and perhaps it was presumptuous of her to assume otherwise, but she wasn't so certain. Obviously she couldn't be too forward and frighten him away. He was an unconventional man and it would be an unconventional relationship, but perhaps she was a little unconventional herself. She had the feeling that if she could just find the right way to tell him how she felt, the right way to ask him, that he might consider it after all.

But there were very many considerations, of course. He'd probably want to know what she would expect of him, and she had to admit that she needed to figure that out first. But once she knew, she could find a way to present her idea to him and see what he thought of it. He enjoyed her company, didn't he? He had asked her to stay with him, hadn't he? Surely he wasn't averse to spending time with her.

She hoped, at the very least, that her feelings for him wouldn't be off putting to him, and that they could stay friends even if he wasn't comfortable with being more.

There were other considerations as well. When should she tell him? Tomorrow? As soon as she knew what to say? Or should she wait a little? Should she wait until after Raoul was found? It would be terribly awkward if she confessed and laid her heart bare to him, only for him to be repulsed by the very idea and yet still have to guard her practically every day.

Eventually the card game was laid aside in favor of deeper conversation. He told her more of his time in Italy, though he left out the less than happy parts. She talked of her childhood, those shining days when her Papa was still alive and all was right with the world. They spoke of music and the opera, and she told him which roles she'd always dreamed of playing, and he confessed that he'd dreamed of playing in the orchestra and had even tried to audition.

"But I couldn't, you know- they wouldn't even let me try, not unless I-" he gestured to his mask, and she made a sympathetic noise, her brow crinkling. "I refused to let them see, and they refused to let me audition."

He hadn't ever wanted her to know what lay beneath that mask, but now that she did - now that she knew and had returned to him of her own free will - it was freeing to be able to speak of it, of this hidden aspect of himself that impacted so very much of his life in ways no one else could fathom unless they had also lived it. Most wouldn't understand, but Christine tried to - she listened and treated him just the same, and it made him feel seen, and it was a surprise to find that being seen did not have to be a bad thing.

"Christine, look-" he got up off the couch, his joints popping and his legs stiff from sitting all night, and walked over to the window, pulling the blinds open.

She came stood next to him. The sun was rising, turning the sky all shades of blue and making the clouds look pink and yellow and purple.

"It's beautiful," she breathed.

"I don't see it often, but I always try to watch it when I can," he murmured.

They watched together in comfortable silence until it was too bright to look at, and then they set about tidying the office for the day of work ahead of them.

Antoinette arrived a little while later, and she greeted them both but shared a knowing smile with Christine, who ducked her head and blushed, and Erik narrowed his eyes at this, suspicious.

"Can we all get breakfast together?" Christine asked, hopeful. "Work can wait a little while longer, can't it?"

Antoinette raised an eyebrow but smiled.

"I think that can be arranged," she agreed. "But when we get back I want to go over our notes again, Erik - what I've read in the case file versus what Edwards told me versus what you've told me - something isn't lining up, but I can't put my finger on it."

Erik nodded.

They were discussing where they would go for breakfast when the door opened and Nadir entered.

"Ah, someone arrived in time to tag along," Antoinette mused. "Do you like omelettes, Nadir?

"The Daroga would never pass up a chance to eat, especially if someone else is paying," Erik quipped, but Nadir didn't laugh.

All three of them could sense Nadir's seriousness in his demeanor, but none of them expected the words he uttered.

"Erik, you are under arrest for the murder of the Vicomte Raoul de Chagny."


	27. Chapter 27

_You are under arrest for the murder of the Vicomte Raoul de Chagny_

A thousand thoughts barreled through Erik's mind. He glanced down at Christine on the couch, who was staring up at him with a heartbreaking look on her face, her eyes filling with tears. He looked over at Antoinette, who was staring at him with a mixture of disbelief and fear and regret. He looked back to Nadir, who kept his sad but firm gaze level at him.

"Come now, Nadir," Erik murmured. "Don't do this."

A brief flicker of indecision flashed across Nadir's face, but resolve quickly replaced it.

"Out of respect for our past together, I'm not going to handcuff you. But I do expect you to come with me to the station for questioning."

Erik shook his head and instinctively took a step backwards.

"No, no - I didn't do it - it wasn't me."

Christine curled in on herself, sobbing. Erik glanced at her again, the image of her an arrow in his chest. He wanted to hold her, to wipe away her tears - but then he realized that in that moment, she was crying because she thought Erik had murdered her fiancé.

"Erik, I don't want to handcuff you, but if you resist then I'm going to have to. Please."

Nadir took a step forward, and Erik's heart sank. The man was serious, then. Erik's eyes fluttered around the room as though taking it in for the last time, and he swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. He gave a single nod.

"Very well, then."

"I'm sorry, Erik," Nadir said quietly as he led him out the door.

"So am I," Erik sighed.

Antoinette watched as the two men walked out the door, watched as Erik looked back at her one last time, his face uncertain as though he were trying to ascertain her opinion of him of now. She gave away nothing as the doors closed and took them out of view.

Once they were gone she grabbed the whiskey glass from her desk and hurled it at the wall where it shattered with a satisfying noise. She put her hands to her temples. The world was spinning and she didn't know how to make it stop.

She stood up. How had she missed it? How had this happened right under her own nose? All this time? And she never even knew?

She ran up the stairs to his room. Was he back on the morphine? That hashish laced with who-knew-what? Was that it? Had he fallen back into his vices from days past? She rifled through his personal effects, searching for needles, for pills, for anything that might explain what had happened. For weapons.

She laughed bitterly - weapons. That man was a weapon. He didn't need anything but his hands.

She pulled out drawers and overturned them, as though by examining their contents she could examine his conscience and determine where it all went wrong. She felt a vague pang of guilt for violating his room like this, but if what Nadir said was true-

She found nothing. If he was using again, it wasn't in the office. She checked the pockets of every item of clothing in the closet, nothing. Inside the monkey music box on his dresser, only a few pieces of fine jewelry. Her mind raced now, questioning everything. Were those his, or had he stolen them? Inside the violin case, a small snapshot of Christine. Antoinette frowned. Where had he gotten this? At the bottom of a dresser drawer, a collection of knives. A pistol and bullets. Tucked between layers of clothing, a large amount of red silk rope. These things that she previously hadn't bothered to give a second glance to while on his person now took a sinister new meaning.

There was a box under the bed, which she dragged out and opened. A collection of pencils and sketch pads. She flipped through the images - a few landscapes, some local, some of places she'd never seen before, and then it changed to drawings of people.

No, not people - just Christine. Drawing after drawing of Christine. Christine striking a balletic pose. Christine with her back to the viewer, playing the piano. Christine, eyes closed, lost in playing violin. Christine grinning widely and holding an apple. Christine across the couch, reading a book. Christine after Christine after Christine. Antoinette huffed. She dropped it back in the box and pushed herself off the floor.

She had let him watch Christine - practically pushed him into watching Christine. Or had she? Had he been playing her even then? Had he already killed Raoul at that point? Had he been planning to keep Christine in his clutches indefinitely?

Antoinette let out a soft sob. She didn't want to believe any of this. How could he? How could he have done this? Had he planned it all out or had it been a spur of the moment decision?

She took a moment to survey what she had done. Clothes lay strewn on the floor, knickknacks overturned on the dresser, masks and wigs out of their places on the shelves. She had never been in this room after she had given it to him, and now she had scoured every inch of it. It felt like a betrayal of him, but it was not more of a sin than what he had committed.

She went downstairs, down into the basement. There was less to search down here, but still she looked and looked, hoping to find something, find anything that could explain what had happened. She pulled books off the shelves, finding the staves with love songs scrawled across them, hidden away from prying eyes as though he didn't want anyone to know. She examined the organ, wondering if anything was hidden inside, but found nothing.

Nothing. That's all her quest had turned up, all the answers her mind held. Nothing.

At the end of it she realized how desperately she was hoping to find a bottle or needle, something she could point to and prove to herself that it wasn't _her_ Erik that had so casually killed yet again - that he was in the grips of a vice that caused him to not be himself, that it was out of his control. It might not make a difference in the eyes of the law, or in the eyes of God, but it made a difference to her. Let him be strung out on substance, in an altered state of mind when he had taken a life - but don't let it be something he had willfully chosen, something he had thought about while he had sat across from her in the office as they worked to find a missing child and then something he had acted on just after laughing and joking with her.

She felt sick at the thought - Erik, the very same Erik that had shared an office with her for so many years, the same Erik who was always there for her when she needed someone to talk to, who bought her flowers and left them on her desk every year on the anniversary of her husband's death, who had remodeled her office as a thank you gift, who believed in her even when she didn't believe in herself. Erik, who had taken a bullet in the back for her while out in the field, shielding her with his own body and leaving him with an injury that still ached when the weather changed. Erik, who cooked food for her and Meg and helped clean her house when the struggles of being a single mother with a full time job job became too much.

Erik, the murderer.

How could she reconcile those two people being one and the same? How could the man she knew do something like this? But- he had already been a murderer before she even met him, hadn't he? How many had he killed in Persia before they ever met? Was it selfish of her to assume those others didn't matter just because she didn't know them, couldn't put a face or a name to dead?

But she had wanted to believe he had changed, that he wasn't that person that anymore. Even Nadir had believed him, Nadir who had seen firsthand his many sins. And he had promised both of them that he wasn't that person anymore. Had he been lying when he said that? Or had even he not realized how deeply old habits ran, surprising even himself when he killed the Vicomte?

She numbly walked back up the stairs.

Christine. Her poor Christine. Antoinette sat on the couch next to her and pulled her into her arms.

Christine let her pick her up and hold her as she cried. She didn't have the strength to move - everything had left her when she heard those words.

Her Raoul was gone. Gone. She would never see his warm smile again, never hear his cheerful voice again, never sing for him again, never laugh at his jokes again. Gone.

"Raoul, Raoul!" she sobbed onto Madame Giry's shoulder.

She couldn't even wrap her mind around the other half of what had been said - that it was _Erik_ who had caused this. How? How could her Angel have done this to Raoul? To her?

In one fell swoop, she had lost both of the men she loved.

Erik grudgingly followed Nadir to the horse drawn cab that was waiting outside. Once inside, Nadir refused to look at him.

"I want to know what proof there is to warrant this," Erik stated.

Nadir looked out the window and stayed silent.

Erik stared at his old friend in disbelief. He was about to demand an answer when suddenly he realized something else was wrong. He peered out the little window in confusion.

"Nadir, this isn't the way to the station."

Nadir glanced mournfully at him.

"Because we aren't going to my station, Erik. It's under the jurisdiction of the next district over."

The bafflement in Erik's eyes made Nadir's heart twist. Did he truly not remember what he had done?

"Raoul was found in Officer Edwards' district," he softened his voice.

"So the boy really is dead, then?" Erik sounded regretful.

Nadir gave a nod.

"I didn't do it, Nadir, please," he begged.

"Save it for the station," he shook his head, avoiding his eye.

"I'm being framed, you have to know that-"

"Erik, _please_-!"

Erik fell silent.

The quiet was suffocating. Nadir stole glanced at him every now and then, too guilty to actually look at him for longer than a few seconds. He'd known this man for thirty years, and looking across at him now he seemed every inch the broken young man he'd met back in Russia and brought to Persia. He had hoped, at the time, to be a good influence on him, but all he'd done was shove him into the power of twisted people who only further crushed his soul and filled his spirit with evil. Nadir fervently longed to go back in time, to stop himself from ever approaching the young street magician he had seen while on vacation, to merely applaud the tricks he had never seen the likes of before and then to turn away, never learning his name, never hearing of his architectural skills, never making the connection in his mind of Erik's skills and the Shah's requests for entertainment and a new palace. Never making the fatal choice to offer to Erik the opportunity that had damned his soul. Perhaps then none of this would have ever happened.

"You promised me, Erik," Nadir whispered brokenly. "You promised."

Erik said nothing, only stared.

"Why did you do it?" he continued, unable to help himself. "Are you- are you taking something again? Are you drinking? Was it because of Christine?"

Erik flinched at her name, turning away from him.

"I'm clean, Nadir, I swear it. I left that behind in Persia - _all_ of it."

Nadir so wished it were true. He knew he should wait until they were at station, knew that he himself had only moments ago requested that Erik not speak of it until they were there, but in the silence the questions bubbled up and screamed at him until he had to speak them out loud or go deaf inside. If Erik had truly committed this crime, it would be his last - and Nadir would be powerless to help him.

"Edwards says he has evidence linking you directly."

"What evidence?"

Nadir shook his head.

"I don't know."

"Did- did you see the- see him? The boy?"

"No."

They arrived at the station, and Edwards was there as soon as they opened the door. Nadir exited first.

"Let me question him, Edwards," he pleaded. "Please, he doesn't need handcuffs. And I know we'll have to keep him here, but it's of the utmost importance that we keep him in the questioning room, not a cell."

Edwards nodded, leading them into the station.

Inside he turned to Erik and demanded his coat and moved to inspect him for weapons. Nadir stepped between them.

"Let me do that, please," Nadir offered.

He gave Edwards Erik's coat, and then paused to look at him.

"Your jacket, as well, old friend," he told him apologetically.

Erik took off his second jacket and uncoiled the red silk rope from where it was stashed up his sleeve. He sighed as he pulled a small knife out of holster near his ankle, and frowning he turned to Nadir.

"I seem to have left my pistol at the office."

Nadir nodded and motioned him over the wall, where Erik placed his hands as Nadir patted him over - a concept that made Nadir chuckle mirthlessly, as though ensuring the mere lack of a physical weapon made Erik defenseless. Still, it was policy and had to be done, and if had to be done then so help him - Nadir was going to be the one to do it. It was bad enough that he had to arrest his dear friend, he certainly wasn't going to hand him over to uncaring officers to be pawed at and manhandled.

Edwards watched from the corner of the room.

"It's policy to remove of the rest of that, too," he waved a finger towards Erik. "The gloves, the vest, the cravat, all of it. It's summer, what the hell are you wearing all those layers for?"

Nadir and Erik paused.

"That's not the policy at my station," Nadir said cautiously.

"We're not at your station, now are we?"

Nadir shrugged at Erik helplessly, and Erik took off the offending items, feeling terribly bare without them. He hated that Edwards was getting a glimpse of the marks that ran down his neck, no longer covered by the cravat, but his only relief was the fact that Nadir had already seen his entire face in the past and he at least was not judging him.

"The mask, too."

Erik froze at Edwards' command.

"You can't be serious," Nadir turned to him. "You think he's hiding a weapon behind his mask? You're being absurd."

"Fine. Leave it," he grumbled, pushing off the wall where he was leaning and making his way to the interrogation room.

Nadir sat across from Erik, pain in his eyes. He never wanted to be here like this. Suddenly he realized he had no folder, no papers or prompts of what to question him with. Edwards stood in the corner, watching.

"Where, ah, where were you on the night Raoul disappeared?" Nadir finally asked.

"I was at home," Erik said steadily.

"Erik... Please. That's not what you told me before."

"No, it was," Erik insisted. "I did go home that evening. I was at the Opera Populaire to see Faust, and then I went home and stayed there."

"When you left, did you go straight home?"

"Yes."

"Erik, did you go straight from your seat in the audience to your home?"

"I went from the Opera Populaire straight home, yes."

"From your seat in the audience?"

Erik swallowed hard.

"I went from the audience to the performers' dressing rooms and from there I went straight home."

Nadir rubbed his face.

"What were you doing by the dressing rooms?"

"I-" he hesitated. "I was there to see Christine."

"And did you?"

"I _saw_ her, yes."

"Did you stop to talk to her?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"She was busy."

"With who?"

"With Raoul," he managed.

"So you saw Christine with Raoul and instead of stopping to talk you went home?"

"Yes," Erik grit out.

"What did you do when you got home?"

"I went to sleep. I wasn't feeling well."

"Can anyone provide witness that went home and didn't leave?"

"I don't think so. It was late."

"You say you aren't feeling well," Nadir felt dread in the pit of his stomach. "Can you explain what you mean, please?"

"It was a headache," he said faintly.

They both knew what that meant. Erik often lost memories, lost time, during his episodes. He would remember his head hurting, the light blinding him, the nausea, and then it would muddle and sometimes chunks of time would go missing. Most of the time it didn't matter as he was simply laying on his bed or asleep, but there had been occasions where he had done things he had no memory of - going to the market and buying a cherry pie, having a bizarre conversation with Nadir about birds, waking up in the middle of the park with no recollection of how he got there.

Doubt gnawed the corner of his mind. He hadn't killed the boy... _Had he_? He had been upset that night, yes - but upset enough to harm him? He had been upset with himself mostly... But had his pain addled mind taken that out on Raoul? He hated to admit that it made sense in a way - eliminate the competition, drive Christine into his presence with a well placed threatening letter... Except this would, in the end, hurt Christine. Had he been that shortsighted in a delirious haze, orchestrating a scheme that complex, trapping her like a bird in a cage of thorns just so he could enjoy her song? He couldn't - would he?

He tried to clear his throat, but the constricted feeling still remained.

"Nadir, I did not kill the boy. I may not entirely remember everything from that evening, but I swear to you I did not kill him that night."

"He's telling the truth about that," Edwards broke in. "He didn't kill him that night, because Raoul de Chagny was killed last night."

Both men at the table started.

"Where were you last night, Erik?" Nadir asked.

"At home."

"Can anyone confirm this for us?"

"Yes, actually."

"Who?" Edwards demanded, leaning in close to the table in a way that made Erik uncomfortable.

Erik had a sinking feeling deep inside. Something wasn't right here. He _knew_ he didn't kill the boy, and now he had proof because all night he had been with-

"I- I can't say who," he muttered.

Edwards leaned back, vindicated.

"You can't say who because there was no one. You were out in the park, strangling the Vicomte."

"Who found the body?" Erik asked.

"Does that matter?" Edwards retorted.

"Who found him, Edwards?" Nadir asked.

"I did, if it's so important. Found him with that red silk rope around his neck."

Erik met Nadir's eye, willing him to understand. Nadir tilted his head, confused.

Erik sighed, thinking.

"My, my, Daroga," he murmured. "Doesn't the sandstone sparkle in these evening rays of sun?"

Nadir's eyes widened. He recognized the phrase, even after all these years. A secret code between just the two of them to alert the other when they needed to discuss something in private.

Nadir coughed.

"Edwards, please, could you- could you get a glass of water? My throat is so dry..."

Edwards gave a brief nod and left the room. Erik wasted no time. He leaned across the table to whisper harshly.

"Edwards is framing me, Nadir. I know it. Please, no matter what happens, you have to keep Christine safe," he begged. "I was with her last night - all night, Nadir, she'll tell you the very same. Ask her - but do not let Edwards know about it until you can safely get him out of the picture. She will back me up on this, I swear to you - just ask her- we were at home the entire night-"

"She'll agree with anything you say about that night?" Nadir asked cautiously.

"Yes! She was there- ask her if she was with me and she'll tell you-"

"Erik," he cut him off with a sad smile. "Christine will agree with any story you concoct because she loves you."

Erik stopped. He slid back into his seat, expression blank as he searched Nadir's face for the truth. He saw what he was looking for, and then dropped his gaze to his own hands, picking nervously at his nails. When finally spoke, it was in a broken voice.

"Christine loves me?"

Nadir didn't have a chance to answer. Edwards came back in and placed the glass in front of Nadir.

"Did he say anything else?" Edwards asked. "The name of this supposed witness to his whereabouts last night, perhaps?"

"No," Nadir supplied. "No, he didn't."

"A shame," Edwards chuckled. "It was your last hope, Erik. It seems nothing can save you now."

_Except perhaps Christine_

There was one other crucial piece of evidence but Erik had run out of time before he could say it without Edwards in the room. He desperately hoped that Nadir would still remember it from all those years ago, all those things they'd both rather forget that were now so terribly important to remember.

Edwards produced a pair of cuffs from behind his back.

"I suggest you go easily, Erik - any form of resistance will not go well for you."

Nadir looked at Edwards, confused.

"Go... Go where?" Erik stuttered.

Edwards raised an eyebrow.

"To your cell."


	28. Chapter 28

"Edwards! I thought we agreed!" Nadir spit. "We leave him here in this room, not in a cell!"

Edwards scoffed, taking advantage of Erik having frozen stock still to slide the cuffs over his wrists.

"He doesn't get special treatment just because he's a friend of yours."

He grabbed Erik roughly to his feet, and Erik shook himself out of his stupor.

"Nadir, what is he talking about... Nadir, what does he mean-"

Erik's eyes darted back and forth between the two men.

"_What does he mean, cell_?!"

"No, no," Nadir groaned. "Edwards, you don't understand - _do not_ put Erik in a cell!"

Erik pulled back from him, wild with fear.

"Nadir, please! Don't let him- don't let him do it!" he practically sobbed the request, and Nadir's heart broke for him. "Don't let him put me in a cage again!"

Edwards called out for backup, two burly men entering the room and grabbing Erik, who fell to his knees.

"Stop this! Unhand him right now!" Nadir shouted, but it made no difference.

Erik's cries and desperate struggles only grew as they dragged him to the cell and pushed him inside, locking the bars.

Nadir followed Edwards as he walked back to his office.

"What the _hell_ was that, Edwards?" Nadir was fuming. "Get him out of there! This is beyond cruel-"

"It's standard procedure, it's not cruel-"

"Standard procedure! You want to talk to me about _standard procedure_! None of this is standard procedure!" he huffed, shaken by what his friend had been put through and still peeved that Edwards had asked to remove his mask.

Edwards stopped short and glared at him.

"Are you saying I don't know how to do my job?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

Nadir threw up his hands and sighed in defeat.

"I'm not saying that, Edwards," he conceded wearily.

He had spent enough time around Erik to know when to stop pushing someone, and Edwards had a dangerous glint in his eye. This whole thing was feeling stranger and stranger, but he wasn't going to get anywhere by needling the man.

"Could I see the photos?" he asked quietly, looking down.

"Photos of what?" Edwards snapped.

"Well, the _crime scene_ photos," Nadir raised an eyebrow.

Edwards paused a long moment.

"What on earth would you want to see that for?"

Nadir shrugged.

"I just- I feel I owe it to him, in a way. He was an acquaintance of sorts, and it was my friend who killed him... I just want to pay my respects, I suppose..."

"There weren't any photos," Edwards stated.

Nadir didn't comment. Standard procedure, indeed.

"Then do you know which morgue he's at?"

Edwards grew agitated.

"I don't know, for goodness's sake - I have more than one case going on, you know!"

Nadir nodded and ran a hand through his hair.

"I really am sorry about all this trouble," Nadir said, using that tone he had employed so often in Persia while trying to soothe a raging Erik. "I was... I overstepped my boundaries, I'm sorry. If there's any updates, you have my number."

Edwards waved him away with an annoyed look on his face.

Nadir walked back to the cab in a daze. There was nothing else he could do for Erik here, and he needed to talk to Christine. Murderer or no, the pitiful sounds of Erik screaming and pleading still echoed in his ears and Nadir feared that they always would. He placed a hand over his eyes and bit back tears. He had promised Erik that he was only taking him in to question him. He truly had never intended to force him into reliving his childhood trauma by putting him behind bars - Nadir knew from previous visits to jail cells as investigators how uneasy he was just to be around the cells, usually preferring to stay outside while Nadir went in to see the suspects, trying hard to hide the tremble in his hands that even the mere proximity to the cages caused. Had Nadir known of Edwards' intention to lock him up in such a manner, he never would have brought Erik in.

Something else kept replying in his mind as well - how Erik had struggled to resist being locked away. What struck him was how even the midst of that panicking struggle Erik had been holding back. Handcuffed or no, he knew Erik would have been capable of inflicting severe damage on every man in that room if he wanted to.

And yet he had refrained.

Was he supposed to believe that a man who had murdered someone not even a day ago would give up so easily? His heart ached anew at the implications - he had thought, feared, that Erik had slipped back into his old ways, but it appeared to not be the case. An Erik who would let himself be dragged to a cage instead of taking a swing at an officer was not an Erik who would murder the boy and carelessly leave the body in the park, not in Nadir's experience. He was in control of himself, very far from the feral being he had been in Persia.

Erik had upheld his end of the deal - no more murder, changed behavior, no more violence - and Nadir had so easily assumed that his vow had meant nothing and, in his rush to do the right thing, had led his old friend into a traumatic incident like a lamb to the slaughter.

He took off his glasses and rubbed at his eyes, a sad smile twitching across his face as he recalled what Erik always called him. Erik had been quite right, it seemed. He really was a foolish old booby.

He had to set this right, and the first step was talking to Christine.

Back at the office, Giry was starting to get a headache from thinking of the enormity of it all.

They'd never had a case go cold before, and she hadn't mentioned it to anyone else, but the lack of evidence and leads on what had happened to Raoul had worried her. The only person clever enough to hide their trail from her and Erik was... well, Erik himself.

It made sense in way, but it also didn't - or perhaps she just wanted to pretend that it didn't. Erik's reports and notes about what had happened weren't lining up with what few reports she had received from Edwards. Was Erik covering his tracks? But if Erik was telling her the truth, then that meant-

Nadir entered the office quietly, noticing the two women on the couch. They both looked to have been crying, although only Christine was still sniffling.

"Please tell me he didn't do it, Nadir," Antoinette said wearily.

Nadir merely shrugged and shook his head.

"Christine," he said gently. "I need to ask you a few questions. Is that okay?"

She looked up from Antoinette's arms and nodded. Nadir settled himself on the couch next to them and thought for a few moments and about how to word his question.

"Could you tell me about where you've been all week?"

Christine's brow furrowed, but she nodded again. Her voice wavered, and a few more tears were shed, but she started with the previous days working upwards to the present. Antoinette gave her arms a soft squeeze every now and then as she told her story, encouraging her. When she got to the part about the masquerade, she stopped and scrubbed her hands across her eyes. She didn't care if they thought her foolish or were upset with her for sneaking out - there were more important things now.

"I snuck out to the masquerade that night," she admitted. "I only wanted to help him look for Raoul. And I did - I saw Philippe there, and I heard what he said. Erik didn't mind me going, not really - well, he was mad at first, but he said I actually helped the investigation, so-"

"Investigation? Christine, what do you mean? What masquerade was this?"

Her lips parted and her brow furrowed. She glanced at Antoinette.

"Didn't Edwards tell you? It was in the case file, wasn't it?"

"I haven't heard anything about this... What was the masquerade?"

"Was it really not in the case file we gave you?" Antoinette asked, suddenly concerned.

Nadir shook his head.

"This is the first I've become aware of a masquerade."

"Oh, well, it was a gambling den, you see. Edwards was there. Erik mentioned that he must have seen the note about Philippe's invitation to the party in the case file we had on Raoul," Christine said, and then recounted what all she had seen and heard during the party and then it's aftermath.

Antoinette tensed just slightly as she listened. Edwards was at the masquerade but hadn't been told about it by Erik or herself... It was possible, she supposed, that Edwards already knew about the masquerade and had gone to stake it out - but since they were both investigating the same case, he was supposed to be keeping them updated on any leads. At best he was withholding information from them, at worst-

She felt a sharp stab of regret, not for the first time and certainly not for the last, for violating his room in her panic. That was going to be a hell of a thing to have to explain to him when came back... assuming he came back. She pushed that last thought from her mind.

Christine explained about Edwards calling Giry who had called the opera house.

"You were there for part of that. Those two men he arrested in the tunnels, two men that Erik and I incapacitated - I mean it was mostly Erik, but I did help a little. They were involved in... in- kidnapping... At least, we thought they were. That's what Edwards told Erik, even back at the masquerade - that he needed to follow that man - that's why we went down there."

Nadir and Antoinette exchanged a look but sat quietly as Christine wiped away a few more tears.

"We went up above, and we brought Edwards to arrest the men. Erik dropped me off at Madame's house."

She fidgeted before continuing in a softer voice.

"And then last night- last night I was here. With him."

Nadir glanced at Antoinette.

"Did you know about this?"

Antoinette nodded.

"Was Christine with Erik the entire night?" he asked.

Antoinette shrugged a little.

"She was here last I knew, and she was here when I arrived this morning."

"Why did you come back here?" he turned to Christine again. "Why not simply stay at Madame Giry's?"

"I felt badly that he had to be alone... After. So I went to the cafe down the street and ordered some food to be boxed up, and I came over. It had been a very trying day, for both of us."

"Both of you?" Nadir prompted.

She nodded.

"For Erik and myself. When we followed the men under the Opera House, and he- well, his mask got torn off in the scuffle."

"Oh, dear," murmured Nadir.

"His mask got knocked off, and I saw his face," she looked down at the floor. "And he was very upset."

"You saw-" Nadir asked.

She nodded.

"And, uh, forgive me, but- could you... Describe..."

Nadir knew there was the slightest possibility that Erik might have coached Christine on what to say, but he never would have willingly shown or even told her what was under the mask.

She looked up again, ashamed and frightened.

"It's alright, Christine, I've seen him before," he offered gently.

She frowned, and, unable to say the words, she pointed up and traced her fingers over where the scars on his face lay, finally pointing, embarrassed, at her nose.

Nadir closed his eyes and nodded slowly. He was sorry to have make her relive it, sorry that Antoinette was likely hearing what was under the mask for the first time, but hearing it confirmed without a doubt that she was telling the truth - she had seen his face. She was clearly infatuated with him, and she would surely repeat any story he had asked of her, but there was no way that they would concoct a story like _this_.

"And then what?" Nadir asked.

"I stayed here with him... The entire night."

"Did you go anywhere, did he? What time did you fall asleep?" Nadir pressed.

She shook her head slowly.

"We both stayed here, all night. Neither of us fell asleep. We were awake all night."

"You're quite certain, Christine?"

"Yes, we saw the sun come up."

She sighed, the good memories of the previous night now tainted by the thought of what he was accused of doing.

"What time did you bring the boxed food over?"

She considered this.

"It was still fairly early. It was still light out. I didn't spend much time at all at Madame Giry's before we left to go get the food and come over here."

Nadir took a deep breath and sighed, leaning back on the couch.

"Edwards said that Raoul was killed last night, but Erik was with you just as he told me..."

Christine gasped at Raoul's name.

"Where?" she asked in a trembling voice. "Where was he found? What had happened to him?"

"The park, but he said- I'm so sorry Christine- he said he was found with Erik's red lasso around his neck..."

Christine burst into tears once more.

"Erik would never!" she cried. "He wouldn't kill anyone, he couldn't!"

Nadir glanced at Antoinette, ashamed. Neither one said what they were both thinking - Erik was currently being framed for murder, but his past had proved him was very capable of killing. Suddenly, something clicked in his mind and he cursed aloud.

"He _is_ being framed!" he cried, snapping his fingers. "Back then, back in Persia - he never left his ropes behind."

"W-what?" Christine sniffed. "What was in Persia?"

"When he, ah- well you see, when he was a young man... younger than you are now, Erik was- he was an assassin for the Shah," Nadir explained awkwardly, realizing Christine didn't know this part of Erik's past.

Her eyes widened, but she said nothing.

"It was a dark time for him, and he's left all that behind him, but this - I feared he had relapsed into old ways, but I don't think he has, not now. You see, back then when he would- use his lasso... He never left any rope behind. Ever. If red silk rope was found in the park last night... It was because someone was trying to pin blame on Erik."

Nadir should have realized it sooner. He recalled with great horror an incident where Erik had nearly gotten the both of them caught and killed due to his insistence that he retrieve the red rope of his lasso from its latest victim. They had managed to escape in the nick of time, of course, but in all those years he had never seen Erik leave even a bit of rope behind. He saw no reason why Erik would start now. Edwards _was_ framing him, without a doubt.

He swallowed. Edwards. Edwards would probably push for Erik's execution, and with the amount of "evidence" they had on him... It was only a matter of time.

"He's being framed, and they have enough phony evidence to have him executed, and soon."

Christine gave a high pitched wail, and Antoinette sucked in a sharp breath.

"You have to take me to him, Nadir. Please, I have to see him," Christine begged.

Nadir thought of the state Erik was in when he left.

"Christine... I don't think that's a very good idea..."

"No," she shook her head fervently. "I _have_ to see him. I have to let him know that I know he didn't do it."

"Christine, he's... not well, at the moment," Nadir hesitated.

"That's all the more reason I need to see him!" her eyes welled with tears but her voice was firm.

"After they close," he conceded. "Erik was insistent that I keep you safe from Edwards, I'm not taking you to the station while he's there."

Christine put a hand over her racing heart. In the midst of his being framed for murder and facing the possibility of execution, Erik was still thinking of her. She couldn't leave him to rot in a cell - not seeing him was not an option.


	29. Chapter 29

Christine could do nothing but wait anxiously for the station to close at the end of the day. Nadir and Antoinette were in firm agreement that something wasn't right with Edwards - but they both knew how difficult it would be to take down a police chief. They spent time at Nadir's station as he began to compile information and recorded their official statements on what their dealings with him had been, and after that they all went to see Philippe.

Antoinette and Erik's office was closed until late in the evening, and as such there was no one there to hear the phone ringing, someone at the opera house calling over and over again only to be met with blank silence.

None of the three happened to see Philippe watching them approach the mansion from an upper level window, how he peered down in fear, hoping the curtain would hide most of him.

What were they doing here? What did they want? He had only wanted his brother back, for goodness's sake! He didn't know how many of the other police officers were in league with Edwards - that was why he had gone to a private investigator in the first place! How foolish he had been... And what a nasty surprise it had been to see Edwards there in the office with that Erik fellow and the woman... They were all in on it together, he was certain!

All he had to do now was keep a low profile and pay back Edwards as quickly as he could, then he could finally get Raoul back safe and sound. He didn't want to anger Edwards any more than he already had by blabbing to the investigators. He hadn't let anything about the parties slip! He had been good! Except for going behind his back and trying to get the boy returned without fully paying off his debts... But really, how was he to have known that Raoul had invested practically every last dime of the de Chagny fortune in the opera house?

He felt regret that Christine had been dragged into this, of course. She was a good soul - she'd never be involved with gambling or crooked police officers, so the only reason she must there on his doorstep was as a hostage.

He quickly instructed his servants to inform any visitors at the door that he was not on the premises. He had no wish to talk to anyone about anything, especially when he didn't know who he could trust.

The trio lingered there, asking the doorman what time Philippe would be back and where he had gone, but the man regretfully informed them that he wasn't certain. Eventually they left, no more answers in hand than they had had that morning.

Edwards was preparing to call it a day and leave the office. It had been a particularly trying time for him recently - that oaf in the mask seemed to thwart his plans at every turn - and his imbecile henchmen had continually failed him. How hard was it to shoot a man, really?

Not to mention the amount of people getting dragged into this now - more people meant more lose ends, and though Edwards was good at tying up loose ends, it annoyed him to have so many. He still wasn't certain about that Persian fellow - he'd come too close to asking too much about the boy.

Which reminded him - he'd need to inform the coroner of what he wanted the autopsy results to be. Strangulation, not a gunshot wound. He'd put the pressure on Philippe to have him buried as soon as possible, so no one would know otherwise. He supposed he'd have to cancel some fraction of Philippe's debt... And, if he was finding it difficult to motivation to finish repaying whatever was left, well - who would question the Comte's sudden suicide after the loss of his dear little brother?

Erik might have messed up a number of things for him, but at least this part of his plan was going correctly - assuming that drunk at the opera house did his job right.

Before he left the police station, he wanted to see one last thing.

Edwards stood in front of the cell, staring down at Erik who was facedown on the floor where he had been pushed. He hadn't moved from the position since that morning, and he seemingly hadn't stopped weeping, either.

Edwards tilted his head as he watched him. The man he'd sent to lure him into the opera house basement had had very many things to say about Erik's face - or lack of face, and Edwards was terribly curious to see it.

"Your friend is gone, Erik. He abandoned you," he taunted, smirking at how Erik flinched at the words as he continued to sob softly.

"Get up!" Edwards shouted suddenly, slamming his hands on the bars.

The ringing noise echoed through the room and reverberated off the walls. Erik scrambled backwards away from him, pressing himself up against the back wall.

Edwards chuckled at the look of fear in Erik's eyes as he stared up at him.

"Look at you, what a far cry from that intimidating detective you were just a few days ago," he mocked.

"W-why are y-you doing this?" Erik choked out, his shoulders shaking. He would have hated how weak he seemed in that moment, but with every fiber of his being lit up with fear he had no room for self-loathing.

Edwards's laugh rang out.

"Do you think I'd tell you?"

Erik merely blinked and tried to breathe. His mind couldn't make sense of it all, and that only panicked him further.

Edwards leaned in close and lowered his voice.

"Don't worry, Erik - you won't have to think about it much longer. You've been a pain in my ass, you know - if I had my way I'd shoot you right now and be done with it. But do you realize how many questions, how many problems, that would raise?" he chuckled. "You probably do. So now you get another handful of days left, however long before I can pull some strings and get your case expedited... Do you know how easy it is to bribe a judge, Erik?"

He pulled back from the bars, straightening.

"But that doesn't matter now," he continued. "All that matters is there's proof enough to convict you for the Vicomte's murder, and soon enough you won't be a problem anymore. How will it feel, Erik, to meet your end with the very same weapon you use?"

Erik pulled his knees to his chest. So it would be the gallows, then. Of course it would.

"I-I'll tell," he couldn't even manage to get the words out without stuttering.

Edwards reached into his pocket and Erik flinched, but all he pulled out was a pack of cigarettes and a match.

"Tell who?" he mused calmly as he light his cigarette.

Erik stared, eyes wide.

"There won't be anyone to tell, no one who cares - not once you're transferred first thing tomorrow," he put the match out with a swish of his hand. "You'll be going to a jail where no one cares about the ravings of a criminal."

The words stung more than Edwards could possibly have realized. A criminal. He wasn't wrong in calling Erik that. Erik couldn't deny that he was criminal, but he truly hadn't committed this crime. Life was unfair, and in even in doling out justice it still managed to prove just how unfair it really was.

Edwards stayed and tried to get more reactions out of him, but Erik barely registered that he was there. Eventually he left, leaving Erik in outward silence with only the screaming in his mind to keep him company.

Nadir sighed as he prepared the horse carriage for the journey. He would drive and Christine would sit in the back, curtains drawn tightly shut so no one could see inside.

"When you get there," he warned her. "You might not like what you see."

She nodded resolutely, still determined to see him, and got into the carriage.

The sun had already set, and by the time they reached the station he was certain it would be deserted. Sure enough, there was no one in sight when they pulled up, and Christine made no sound as she leapt to the ground. He quickly explained to her where the cells were, and then entered the building first.

The night watchman was there, and Nadir asked to see the lost and found, showing him his badge and explaining that he was here earlier.

"I think I might have left my reading glasses here earlier, and I really do need those back, I'm afraid."

The watchman took him to a closet and helped him to search, distracted enough to not see Christine slip inside.

She made her way to the cells as Nadir had told her. Her heart sank at the sight of Erik huddled in the corner.

"Oh, Erik," she sighed. "Erik, it's me - it's Christine."

She approached slowly, fighting back tears. He looked up at her with unfocused eyes, no recognition of who she was. Those amber eyes, eyes she had at times considered the fierce eyes of a predatory beast, now reduced to the eyes of a frightened and caged animal.

She sunk down to her knees on the floor and reached an open hand through the bars towards him.

"Angel," she whispered.

He flinched back from her hand as though it were a fist raised to strike him. She pulled her hand back and wiped at the tears that were coursing down her face.

"I told you that you wouldn't like what you saw," Nadir murmured, quietly walking close to them.

"What's wrong with him?" she whispered.

"He was forced to run away from home when he was a very small child," Nadir told her softly. "He was picked up by the traveling circus after that. For years he was displayed as an oddity, bound and tied and shown without his mask. They kept him in a cage."

"Oh, oh..." Christine wept, leaning against the bars.

Erik's stared off into the distance as though they weren't even there.

"He escaped, obviously," Nadir continued. "But by then the damage had been done. I think- I think his mind goes back to that time when he's in a situation like this. I don't think he knows where he is."

Christine watched him silently for a moment and sniffed hard.

"We have to break him out," she finally said.


	30. Chapter 30

Nadir looked at her in amazement. It was as if she had read his mind - but it was a huge risk to do so. He was willing to take it on, willing to face the consequences for his actions, but was she? Did she realize the ramifications?

"Christine - are you quite certain you wish to be involved in this? It is a crime, you know."

"I'm not leaving him here like this," she shook her head. "I can't."

Still Nadir hesitated. He had supposed he would take Christine back to Antoinette and then return by himself to free Erik. She looked up at him, teary-eyed.

"I've already lost my Raoul," she said pleadingly. "Must I lose my Erik too?"

She pulled herself to her feet.

"They're going to kill him if we leave him here, you know they are. And he's innocent. And- and he's suffering, look at him."

Nadir sighed. She was right, of course. Erik needed to be out of that cell as soon as possible.

"Where is the night watchman?"

"Outside, he thinks I left already," he told her. "We have a little time, but we must hurry."

She gave a single nod, he was about to leave to find the key for the fell when she pulled a pin out of her hair, turning her head to examine the lock before pushing the pin in. Nadir paused before saying anything.

"Christine... Are you seriously trying to pick the lock of a jail cell with a _hairpin_?"

She gave him a sour look.

"Well do you have a better idea?"

"What about the actual key?"

She flushed.

"Oh."

"Hold on, I'll be right back," he jogged away to find the correct key.

She pressed her face against the bars, watching as Erik shivered. She noticed for the first time that he was only wearing a shirt and slacks, so unlike the many layers he usually kept on. She frowned, wondering if he was cold. He always did have a chill about him, the reason that she assumed he always dressed so heavily.

Nadir came back with a ring of keys, and on the fifth attempt the door sprung open. Erik sat where he was, unaware of what had happened.

Christine made to enter the cell and help him up, but Nadir stopped her.

"He might not recognize you," he warned. "He might lash out, thinking he's in danger. Let me."

He reached down to help him to his feet, gently taking hold of his arm. Erik cringed back from him at first, but then confusion bloomed in his eyes as he looked at Nadir and then the open cell door. Once he was up and outside the cell without any fits, Christine took his other arm, both of them whispering words of comfort and assurance to him in turn.

Nadir closed the cell door before leaving and replaced the key ring where he found it. Erik seemed to gain a little awareness of his surroundings, needing less help to get down the stairs once out the door of the station. He looked up at the night sky, dotted with stars and muddled with clouds. He took a deep breath.

Nadir ushered him in to the carriage and Christine got in after him. The carriage was off with a lurch that jerked them off balance. Christine looked nervously at Erik, who was staring at floor of the carriage but didn't have as much of the faraway look in his eyes anymore.

He slowly, slowly, dragged his gaze from the bottom of the carriage to her feet, and up finally to her face, not fully believing that he was really free once more and even less certain that she was there with him.

"Christine...?" he asked weakly.

She smiled sadly and nodded.

"It's alright, Erik, you're safe now."

He slid to his knees in front of her and wrapped his arms tightly around her, resting his forehead on her shoulder and crying.

She returned his embrace, cooing and shushing him, tracing gentle hands over his neck and shoulders. She wished she could pull his mask off so she could wipe away his tears and kiss his cheek as well.

"Oh Erik, my poor Erik," she murmured. "It's going to be okay, Angel."

The grip of his cold fingers against her ribcage bordered on uncomfortable, but she wouldn't have stopped him for the world. If anything, she pulled him to herself even tighter, as if she could absorb his sadness into her own heart and thus ease his pain. She petted his hair, warring with herself about whether to say it or not. Was he even listening, could he even understand what she would say? Would saying it now make it seem like only another phrase or saying to calm him, would it downplay how fiercely she felt it in her soul?

She closed her eyes, pressed her face into his hair, and whispered, barely audible but still there, still spoken into life, still woven into reality-

"I love you, Erik, I love you."

He gave no indication that he had heard her, and she didn't mind this. She continued to hold him, and he continued to cry against her.

A small part of him was embarrassed for how he was behaving, but his darling Christine had stayed by his side even after seeing him unmasked, so surely his weeping onto her wouldn't drive her away. Try as he might he couldn't stem the flow of tears - he cried for the unwanted child he had been, beaten and abused, for the adolescence marred by guilt over Luciana, for the twisted path he took in Persia and the lives he took along that path.

He cried for the years of trying to make up for it all, for the effort of attempting to atone for the sins that would never wash off, for the realization that no matter what he did or how hard he tried - it would never be enough to fully leave it all behind. He would always be haunted by the ghosts he had created. And even though he had never harmed a hair on the head of the Vicomte, never laid a single finger on precious Christine's boy - he couldn't say that he didn't deserve the gallows, even still. It would be a fitting end, wouldn't it? Just as Edwards had said.

"I didn't kill him, Christine," he glanced up at her, hoping she'd believe him. "I didn't."

She lovingly placed a hand over his masked cheek and he unconsciously leaned his face into her touch.

"I know, Erik, I know. It's alright."

He dropped his gaze.

"But- but I did kill others... Before," he whimpered.

She nodded.

"I know. Nadir told me," her hand left his face and rubbed circles on his back.

Erik considered this for a moment, his eyes still watery and his hold on her relaxing.

"Are you afraid?" he whispered.

"Not of you," she smoothed back his hair and smiled sadly at him.

"Where are we going?" he sniffed. "To- to the gallows?"

Perhaps this Christine was merely a hallucination brought on by his own mind trying to escape the reality of him being led to his own slaughter. Or perhaps it really was his Christine and she was only trying to comfort him in his final moments.

"No, honey, not there. I don't know where we're going, but it's not there," she gave him a squeeze.

He nodded against her.

"Who's driving?"

"Nadir is."

He took a deep, shuddering breath.

"You broke me out of jail," he breathed, the amazement of it finally sinking in. "Both of you did."

"Of course we did," she said simply.

"Is anyone following us?" he murmured, his senses beginning to return to him as he pieced together had happened.

"I don't think so," she hesitated. "But I have your pistol just in case, and Nadir is armed as well."

He nodded. His mind was clearing but he still felt in a fog, felt that pain creeping up his shoulders and into his neck where it would eventually grow into a pounding in his temples. The overwhelming emotions of the day had done him no favors, and being handled so roughly and pushed to the floor of the cell hadn't helped. He still clung to Christine, both for his own comfort and now, as he remembered Edwards' words, out of a desire to protect her.

"Christine," he pleaded.

She winced at how hoarse his voice sounded, picturing how long he must have been screaming to make it so.

"Christine, you must not have any contact with Officer Edwards, do you hear me? I don't want you in the same room with him, even - not the same building. It's not safe for you."

"I won't, Erik," she promised.

"He's framing me, and he won't hesitate to kill you, either. The only people you can trust right now are Nadir and the Girys."

She nodded, stifling a sob.

He pulled back to look at her, and realized for the first time how red her eyes were, and noticed the tracks of tears staining her cheeks.

"Oh, Christine," he sighed. "I'm so sorry."

He raised a trembling hand to her face, intending to wipe her tears away, but hesitated to actually touch her. She placed her hand on top of his, making him close the small gap between his palm and her cheek, and kept her hand there over his.

He was surprised when she didn't flinch at the contact, even though her face and hand both felt so hot, making him realize just how cold his own hand was. He had only meant to gently brush his hand across her face once, but she kept his hand pressed against her.

"When I saw you in that cell, I was so worried I was going to lose you," she whispered. "And I'm scared that I still will."

He bit his lip, unsure of what to say to comfort her. His first instinct was to reassure her that he would be fine, that he wasn't going anywhere, but he couldn't promise her that when he wasn't sure if it was true. And even if he did know what to say, he wasn't certain if he could have even formed the words - the thought that in midst of all she had gone through, every hardship she had endured, every tear she had already shed, she still worried over his fate, still wept for _him_, that thought stole the very breath from his lungs.

The carriage hit a bump in the road, jostling the entire thing and upsetting their balance. Erik fell backwards and Christine was thrown to the side with a squeak. She righted herself quickly and reached to help Erik up.

"Sit beside me, Erik, that can't be good for you knees," she fretted.

He did as she requested, realizing his knees _were_ aching. Fatigue was quickly setting in, but he tried to fight it as long as he could. He needed to sleep more than anything, but he refused to do so until he knew Christine was safe.


	31. Chapter 31

Nadir squinted in the dark, looking for the path that he knew was hidden in the woods not far from there. Despite the danger and the horror of all that happened, a smile played across his lips. How like the old days, he chuckled to himself. Here he had though himself and Erik far too old to be up to these kinds of dashing escapes and high stakes gambles, but apparently not. He wondered, briefly, if being Erik's friend would just be like that forever - if perhaps when they were in their eighties they'd still be up to the same things. What a sight they'd make, canes in hand, hobbling down the street trying to escape from the latest person Erik had pissed off.

The smile faded. If only he could be assured of such a future. There was a very real chance that Erik wouldn't even make it to the end of the month.

Suddenly he saw the hidden entrance to the woods, pulling the reins to the left. The carriage hit a rock and swayed precariously but kept going. He slowed the horse down to a walk. It would be a difficult path to try to keep, but if they could keep to it eventually they would come across a small cabin that Nadir and Erik had built ages ago.

Erik should go to sleep soon, he realized. After his outburst in the cell he'd need all the rest he could get. Nadir sighed.

There was so much that remained to be seen. How much would Edwards guess? Would he assume Nadir had helped? Or Giry? Was Christine safe to continue working at the Opera Populaire? Was Meg? All questions he didn't have the answers to.

And he could hide Erik in the woods for a while, yes - but what then? Was he to be doomed to hiding the rest of his life? Would he have to be smuggled out of the country? Would he be found and killed? The only way Erik could ever be cleared was if the real murderer was found, but with a chief of police covering it up, who could he even trust anymore?

Thoughts of the future faded to the back of his mind when he saw the cabin just ahead. He stopped the carriage in front of it, jumping down and knocking twice on the carriage door before opening it.

The door swung open, flooding the inside of the carriage with moonlight. Nadir smiled softly at the sight. Erik, sprawled across the seat looking not entirely comfortable, knees sticking out at odd angles, having to stoop ever so slightly due to his height. Christine, sitting as tall as she could manage, the tips of her toes just barely brushing the floor, hands primly folded in her lap. What a pair those two make, he though to himself.

"We're here," he told them.

Erik recognized the cabin but made no comment, too tired to think of what to say. They both followed Nadir to the door, which had no lock on it.

Upon entering, however, Erik suddenly found his voice.

"Why is it so clean?" he demanded.

Nadir raised an eyebrow.

"Because, I was here earlier this year, intending to prepare it for a camping trip shortly after."

"Oh?" Erik glanced around. "Were you inviting me on this camping trip?"

Nadir paused and Erik turned to Christine.

"The nerve of that man," he pointed an accusatory finger at Nadir. "I only built this _entire_ cabin and _he_ decides to come here without me."

Christine smiled in spite of their situation. It warmed her to see Erik returning to his old self.

"You know perfectly well I helped you build this, Erik," Nadir rolled his eyes. "Besides - I was _going_ to ask you but then you started being very rude to me that week. I can't imagine what got into you to cause you to do so."

"Yes," Erik narrowed his eyes at him. "I simply _can't imagine_ that either. I've never known _you_ to be annoying in the least-"

Erik swayed on his feet a little, causing Christine to gasp and reach for him.

Nadir's eyes softened. His old friend was trying to move past what happened earlier that day, but he still wasn't well.

"I'll shake out the mattress and sheets and then it's straight to bed for you, Erik," he told him.

"Listen to how he bosses me about, Christine, as though he has any right," he murmured to her. "_Terrible_."

"He's right, you know. You need to sleep," she said gently.

"Oh, Christine, have you turned on me, too?" he shook his head a little, but let her lead him to the bed. "_It's spreading_."

She helped him into the freshly made bed, making him lay on his back so the mask wouldn't bite into his face as much.

"You're all ganging up on your poor Erik," his words were slurred just slightly, his eyes slipping closed.

"Rest, Erik, and I'll be here when you wake up," she squeezed his hand, holding it tightly as she stood by his bedside waiting for him to fall asleep.

She didn't have long to wait, but still she lingered just a little longer, as though to convince herself that he was really there. His breathing was deep and even, and she watched the rise and fall of his chest for a moment before pulling a blanket over him.

"I think it's important," Nadir said slowly. "That all of us continue on with everything exactly as we normally would. It needs to look to Edwards like we all think Erik is guilty, and that we all think he's still locked up."

She nodded, brushing her thumb over Erik's knuckles before carefully placing his hand beside him.

"When are you due at the Opera next?" Nadir asked.

Her brow furrowed.

"The day after tomorrow."

"You'll have to be there, then. I presume Antoinette will go with you, too. Speaking of - I have to return and tell her what's going on. Will you be alright here for a while? I don't want Erik to be alone when he wakes, but that might not be for a while and Antoinette needs to know as soon as possible."

"Yes, I'm fine," she glanced down at Erik. "Will he-"

"He'll be okay, I think. Eventually. There's canned food and water in the cupboards, should you need it."

After he left, Christine wandered through the tiny cabin, examining everything there was to see, which wasn't much. There was food and water just as Nadir had said, and another cupboard held various tools, a third one held extra blankets, and the last contained various items such as extra oil for the lantern and a few books.

She pulled the books out and looked at the covers. Two were in a language she didn't recognize, and the last one was in French. Ghost stories. She sighed. Still, perhaps the ghosts on the pages could help to exorcise the ghosts in her mind. It was worth a try, at least. She took a blanket - first carefully checking it for spiders - and the book and settled on the couch across from the bed Erik was on.

When Erik awoke it was dark outside. He blinked groggily, sitting up. His shoulders still felt stiff, but his head was relatively free of pain and his mind was present. He attempted to stretch in the hopes of relieving the stiffness, and in the process of doing so he noticed Christine.

Christine. She was leaning back on the couch, fast asleep, oil lantern on the table next to her burning low. Next to the lantern he noticed his pistol. There was a book in her hands, as though she'd been reading when sleep stole up unannounced.

He reached up and made sure his mask and wig were settled lest she wake suddenly. He felt so awfully alone in the silence, still wounded by the memories the previous day had brought up. He longed to wake her so he could hear her speak, see her smile at him, just have her near, anything to remind him that there was at least one person out there who didn't revile him, to remind him that he wasn't alone anymore. But he couldn't do that to her. She looked so peaceful as she slept, and to wake her would be to plunge her into the nightmare once again. Let her dream of being in the arms of her pretty, young Vicomte while she could.

The Vicomte. Erik sighed as he got out of bed. Christine had lost her oldest, dearest friend and lover. It would have been understandable had she holed herself off in her room, refused to see anyone for days on end, put Erik and the whole ordeal out of her mind. Considering the evidence against him with only his own and Nadir's word to the contrary, it also would have been understandable - expected, even - that she hate Erik.

But instead, here she was, exhausting herself over caring for him, breaking the law in her attempts to ensure his wellbeing, weeping over his plight. She was an angel, truly.

He gently took the book from her hands and placed it on the table, and then spread the blanket out over her. He would have to try to make this up to her, somehow. He nearly brushed her curls away from where they had fallen over her face, but stopped himself at the last second, realizing his icy touch would surely wake her.

He would compose the requiem mass for Raoul, he decided as he kneeled there beside her. He didn't know the boy, but she had loved him, and he had seemingly loved her too, so it would be Erik's gift to her. He bitterly wished that he were composing a wedding mass for them instead, even though both options broke his heart - had she gotten married it would have crushed him, even though he felt he had no real right to feel that way. But this - knowing the pain Christine was feeling at losing Raoul, this was far, far worse. As soon as he was able to, he was going to visit that damn Comte and break every bone in his body for withholding information and causing Christine to lose her fiancé in such a horrific way.

He was still feeling slightly claustrophobic after the cell, so he stood and made his way outside. He gripped the railing around the porch, trying to take deep breaths. The clouds overhead that peeked through the treetops held the promise of rain. Evening would be giving way to dawn soon, judging by the placement of the moon. How long had he slept? Had he lost an entire day?

"Erik!"

Christine's voice rang out, high and frightened.

Erik jerked back, pulled out of his own thoughts, quickly going inside to see what was wrong. The look of panic on her face faded when she saw him.

"Oh!" she placed a hand over her heart, willing it to stop racing. "I woke up, and you were gone, and I thought-"

She shook her head, and he slowly drew near and sat on the couch next to her.

"How are you feeling?" she asked softly, and his heart twisted.

Her first thought was for him. How did he deserve such blessed kindness?

"Better, I think," he said.

"Your shoulders look tense," she fretted.

"Ah, perhaps they are," he conceded.

"Here, turn around," she nudged him into turning his back towards her.

She sat up onto her knees and began to knead small circles with her thumbs along the back of his neck and down through his shoulders.

He closed his eyes, never ceasing his amazement at the wonder of her. He felt horribly underdressed, but the tension began to release under her fingers so he permitted her to continue even though he felt it was terribly selfish of him. Perhaps, though, she needed something, anything, to take her mind off of what had happened. He _must_ find a way to make it up to her. He would be a dog at her feet for the rest of his days, if she allowed.

Which might not be very long, unless he could figure out how to prove his innocence without putting Christine in danger. If that was how he had to repay her, he would. He would let Edwards send him to the gallows before he gave up the fact that Christine had been with him that night.

When Nadir arrived at Antoinette's office he found her sitting uneasily on the couch, examining Erik's notes from the case and comparing them to Nadir's and her own.

"Is he alright? Where's Christine?" she asked immediately.

"He's fine. Christine is safe, too," he assured before explaining the tentative plan he had come up with.

"We carry on as before, only we've disowned Erik. To us, he's a betrayer and a murderer."

She nodded at his words.

"Did Edwards kill Raoul, then?"

"I can't say for certain," he frowned.

"I just can't believe he's really gone," she sighed. "He and Christine were nearly inseparable when they were young. Did he really have that rope around his neck when they found him?"

"That's what Edwards says, at least. He was the only one to find him, apparently. He didn't even take a photo of the crime scene. Where were you last night? Did anyone see Christine leave for here?"

"At home all night, just like always. I don't think anyone saw her leave."

"Good, good. If anyone asks, she was with you all night. Erik dropped her off as he always does, and she had dinner with you and Meg, and then she went right up to bed, where she stayed all night. Please make certain Meg is on the same page."

"Of course."

"You both came over here in the morning, exchanged pleasantries, nothing was out the ordinary, and then I came over and arrested him. He knew we had evidence and he went with me willingly."

She nodded solemnly.

"How is he holding up, in that cell?" she asked, her heart breaking to think of him. "I know it must rough for him. I wish he be out of there, and have Christine with him. Speaking of- where is Christine? You surely didn't leave her at the station with him, did you?"

Nadir cleared his throat.

"Is Christine with him? Yes. Is he in his cell? Not exactly," he fidgeted.

Antoinette looked curiously at him.

"We, uh, we _might_ have broken him out of jail, you see..."

She gaped at him.

"You did _what_?"

"Well, it was Christine's idea," he defended.

She raised a hand over her mouth.

"Well were are they now?" she demanded.

"They're safe. They're in my cabin. But I'll have to bring Christine back so she can go to work. I'll fetch her tomorrow afternoon from the cabin and bring her back, assuming everything is relatively safe. If anyone asks, she's been in her room at your place all day after finding out about Raoul."

Antoinette sighed wearily.

"The poor dear. She has a rehearsal coming up."

They were silent a few moments. Antoinette's mind wandered to Erik once more. He had gotten into so many scrapes over the years, and he had always managed to come out of them relatively fine, and she had almost always been able to look the other way and remain fairly distant from whatever danger he got himself into. But this-

"There's no coming back from this, is there, Nadir?"

"No, I don't think so."


	32. Chapter 32

"Christine?"

"Hmm?"

"Earlier... When I was asleep..." he hesitated. "I didn't- say or do... anything, did I?"

She paused her ministrations on his back and shoulders.

"No, you slept the whole time," she said slowly.

He sighed in relief. Heaven forbid he have the conversation about birds with her - Nadir would never let him live that one down.

"Why?" she asked, curious.

"No reason," he rushed to say. "What book were you reading?"

"Hm. Poe's short stories."

"Did you enjoy them?"

She smiled.

"I liked the one about Red Death," she teased.

He chuckled and was about to reply when suddenly there was noise out front.

Christine jumped down from the couch, grabbing the pistol off the table and leveling it at the door as she strode forward to place herself in front of Erik.

His mind registered her movement with panic, and he quickly stood beside her, reaching a hand to her shoulder in case he needed to pull her away quickly - he was not about to let her get hurt on his account. He shook his other arm, only to realize there was no lasso up his sleeve to fall into his hand and he grit his teeth at being so defenseless.

The door began to creak open and they both tensed.

"It's only me," called out as he entered.

Christine let out a huff of relief and lowered the pistol.

Erik turned her to face him.

"Mademoiselle, have you ever even fired a pistol before?"

She blushed and squirmed.

"Well, I have, as a matter of fact," she stated.

"_When_?"

Nadir and Erik posed the same question at almost the exact same moment.

"When Raoul first began his training for the Marine Nationale, he was given a pistol... And we may have spent more than a few afternoons practicing our aim at glass bottles when no one else was around," she lowered her gaze, her smile vanishing as she thought of those long afternoons spent trying to outdo each other until they both had become quite skilled shots.

She sat down again, suddenly silent.

"Are you feeling well enough to stay here by yourself, Erik?" Nadir asked.

"Yes, I'll be fine."

Nadir nodded.

"Christine, I'm going to take you back to Antoinette's house. You have a rehearsal tomorrow and I want you to go on as though none of what happened recently has happened - you never saw Erik again after I arrested him and escorted him from Antoinette's office, you spent the rest of your time up in your room at her house and you stayed there until it was time to leave for rehearsal. Do you understand?"

She stood and smoothed out her skirt.

"I haven't seen Erik since he got arrested," she repeated. "I've been in my room this whole time."

"And what do we know about Raoul?" Nadir gently prompted.

She jutted her chin forward, committed to the part she had to play, but the tears threatening her eyes and the tremble in her voice were all too real.

"Raoul is dead," she proclaimed. "And Erik has killed him."

Nadir glanced between the two of them before turning for the door once more.

"Erik, I brought you some extra supplies in case you need them. I want you to stay here until I can get a handle on what Edwards thinks happened, and then possibly until I find solid proof of who really killed the Vicomte. Christine, once I unpack the supplies, I'll be ready to go whenever you are."

They were silent as Nadir left them alone.

She looked up at Erik, realizing she had no idea when - or even if -she'd see him again.

"I don't know what I'm going to do," she whispered.

"You're going to do what you must, my dear," he said tenderly. "You're going to go out on that stage and sing, because your boy wouldn't have had it any other way."

She sniffed, pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes.

"And how am I to sing when my heart has ceased to beat?" she asked tearfully.

Erik began to reply, but just then Nadir burst back in and piled a number of bags on the floor. He glanced up and blanched at the glare Erik was giving him as he stooped over Christine who looked to be crying. Nadir quickly scuttled out the door once more, giving them privacy.

The click of the door closing drew Christine out of her sorrow. She wiped at her eyes and tried to smile for him. She had lost her friend, but he had lost his freedom and was on the verge of losing his own life. She didn't want his last memory of her to be her blotchy, tear-soaked frown.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm- I'm being so silly about this."

"Oh, Christine," he murmured as he leaned in close to her. "You aren't being silly at all. Close your eyes, my dear."

She did as he bid.

"Picture yourself up on stage, Christine."

She gave a little nod, and he felt a squeeze in his chest at the look of trusting innocence on her face.

"You're singing, and as you're singing you're thinking of your papa, just like you always do, isn't that right?"

She nodded again, pressing her lips into a thin line.

"And your papa is up in heaven watching you sing, isn't he, Christine? He can hear you even there, can't he?"

Her brows knit together, and a single tear dripped down her cheek. She nodded fervently.

He reached one hand up to cup her cheek, wiping at the tear with his thumb.

"And tomorrow when you sing, it won't be just your papa who hears and watches you."

He leaned in just a little closer.

"Your Raoul will be up there too, right there with your papa, and they'll both be watching you, always. And they'll be listening to you sing up on that stage, and they'll tell each other how they proud they are of you, of how much they both love you. And that's why I know you'll be able to keep singing, Christine - because they both want you to."

She bit back a small sob.

"And do you know what else, Christine?"

"What?" she breathed shakily, letting his voice wrap around her heart and seep into her soul, just in the same way his hand carefully left her face and cradled her head before carding those long fingers into her curls and combing them through.

He was close enough now that she could feel the tickle of his breath against her skin, his voice low and oh so quiet, whispered into her ear for only her hear. She shivered.

"You will always have your Angel of Music, too. You might not see him, or hear him, but you will _feel_ him, and you will know he's always there with you even it when it doesn't seem like he is. You'll feel it in your heart, won't you, Christine?"

She opened her eyes to find his face mere inches away from her own. Her first instinct was to close the minimal gap between them, to press her lips to his in a way that seemed only natural. But she held back, remembering that Erik wasn't like most men, and that they had never discussed what he was and wasn't comfortable with in regards to physical intimacy. The last thing she wanted was to push him into a situation he didn't want, to make him uncomfortable or upset after he had been so incredibly kind and sweet to her.

"Yes," she whispered and nodded slowly, her eyes bright as she gazed into his own amber eyes that reflected a deep sadness. "Thank you, Angel."

It was in that moment that, after a brief look of uncertainty that flashed through his eyes, he bridged the small distance between them and rested his masked forehead against her own. It wasn't a kiss, but it occurred to her that for him, this tender gesture might actually carry all the intimacy of a kiss just the same.

Her breath hitched at this thought, at the depth of emotion in his golden eyes, but then just like that the moment had passed.

He pulled back and removed his hand from her hair, straightening to his full height.

"Now, I bet that damn Daroga is beginning to lose patience. We mustn't keep him waiting. It's time to go, Christine."

He walked with her to the door, stopping just before going outside. She kept going, turning back to look at him one last time before climbing inside the carriage. Nadir shut the carriage door behind her, and came over to Erik for one last word.

"I'll be back later," he told him. "Christine and the Girys will be safe, I assure you. I expect you to stay here, Erik."

Erik leaned back and pressed a hand to his own chest, taking an offended posture.

"Stay here? As though I had anywhere else to go? As though you think I'd run off at the first unsupervised moment? Really, Daroga, I don't know where you get these ideas about me," he shook his head in mock disgust.

Nadir sighed, running a hand through his hair. Erik was truly back to normal if he was calling him by his title and being sarcastic. It had been nice while it lasted, Nadir thought wryly. He stepped down off the porch to go back to the carriage.

"Daroga?"

Nadir stopped and looked back.

"Tell Antoinette I'm sorry. For everything."

Nadir nodded, studying the serious look on his friend's face before climbing up to the driver's seat.

"I will, Erik."

"Daroga?"

"Yes?"

Erik looked away from him, staring off down the road the carriage would soon travel.

"I hope you have enough brain cells to realize that my apology most pointedly does not extend to you as well."

Nadir huffed in annoyance.

"Yes, Erik, I figured."

He flicked the reigns and the carriage jolted forward.

Christine lay in the back, sprawled across the seat cushion, facedown and crying quietly. She would have the entire ride back to cry, she told herself, and then after that, no more. She had work to do, and she had to be strong. Erik had been right - Raoul loved the opera, and he wouldn't have wanted her to fade away on his account.

When the carriage arrived behind Giry's house and Nadir opened the carriage door to help her down, it was a very poised Christine that he found, hands folded across her lap, ankles crossed, back straight, and face dry. She took the hand he offered as she stepped down, and it was only when she stepped out into the light that he noticed how red her eyes were.

Antoinette and Meg were waiting there to usher her into the house and thank Nadir.

It was a quiet evening for all of them, as though none of them quite knew what to do with themselves. Meg insisted on drawing a hot bath for Christine, who didn't have the energy to protest that all she wanted to do was go to sleep for the next three decades.

She sank down into the layers of violet scented bubbles, staring blankly at the wall. From the next room she could hear Meg turn the radio on, the sound of a man's voice singing a romantic song drifted through the walls. She pressed her hands over her ears. It was too familiar, too similar of a tenor, too much.

"Turn it off, Meg! Please, turn it off," she cried. "No music tonight. I can't take it."

The radio was hastily shut off. Meg's pleading voice came from behind the door.

"I'm so sorry, Christine!"

"It's okay, Meg," Christine sniffed against the threatening tears.

No more, she told herself, you've had enough tears.

"I love you."

"I love you, too," Meg leaned against the door, pressing her cheek into it and wishing she could do something, _anything_ to make this easier for her friend.

Breakfast was somber the next morning. Christine had no appetite, but she forced herself to finish half of her oatmeal before finally giving up.

The three walked quietly to Opera House, Christine in the middle of them, each of them holding on to one her hands.

The building loomed above them, and Christine frowned at it. So familiar, a place that was practically her home, where she'd spent countless months becoming intimately acquainted with every hall and door and room - a place now turned alien by grief.

She glanced at statues and paintings that lined the halls as though it were the first time she noticed them. Everything was exactly the same as it had been the last time she was here, but now so utterly different.

She bid goodbye to Meg, who scurried off to prepare with the rest of the dancers, and Christine and Madame continued on towards towards the dressing rooms.

Out on the road, Nadir rubbed at his eyes, trying to chase away the fatigue that was setting in. One last trip, he told himself. One last trip to keep Erik up to date on what had happened, and then he'd take a nice long nap and recharge. At least it was easier on horseback without a carriage to pull.

When he arrived at last, he dismounted from his horse and tied the reigns to the railing on the porch. He knocked on the door before entering, calling out Erik's name.

Silence.

"Erik?" he tried again.

But the cabin was empty.


	33. Chapter 33

Nadir's mind was reeling. He searched every corner of the cabin, under the bed, in the cupboards, even glancing at the ceiling. He rushed outside, frantically looking behind the trees.

"Erik!" he hissed. "Stop fucking around, this isn't funny!"

But Erik was gone.

He untied his horse and turned back to the path quickly. He felt that it was likely Erik had simply up and left, ever the contrary thorn in Nadir's side - but he also feared it was just as likely that someone had found him and taken him. He tried to steady himself with reminders that he had seen no bloodstains, no sign of a struggle, but still he couldn't regain his calm entirely.

"Daae!"

Christine and Madame Giry stopped and tuned back, surprised by the voice calling out to her.

Giry clutched something in her coat pocket that made Christine's heart speed up, but the man who had called out to her didn't even notice the motion.

Joseph Buquet stood there, several paces behind, concern streaked across his face.

"Where- where is that man?" he demanded.

Christine's brow furrowed.

"What man?" she asked suspiciously, but she was afraid she already knew who he was talking about.

He glanced from Giry to her, the worry in his face only growing.

"That man that's always with you," he insisted. "The tall one with the- with the mask. Where is he?"

Just hearing about him felt like a punch in the chest. She glanced away. What she had to say about him didn't ease the pain.

"He's in jail. He killed Raoul."

Joseph's eyes widened.

"Well... Well what's going to happen to him now?" he asked, uneasy.

She turned to look him, eyes full of pain and blame.

"He's a murderer, Joseph- he'll be hanged."

He blanched, shaking his head as though in disbelief.

"What? No- no, they can't-"

Madame Giry grabbed Christine's arm and began to pull her down the hall. She turned and snapped at Buquet.

"Can't you see you're upsetting her?"

She hurried her away, leaving him to stare dumbfounded after them.

Giry locked the door behind her once they were in her dressing room.

"Are you okay, dear?"

Christine nodded, staring into the mirror.

"Erik told me that you like to practice in an old storage room, would you like to go there for a little bit?"

Christine shook her head. She sat silent for another moment before burying her face in her hands.

"Erik always checks behind my mirror when we come in here," she said, her voice muffled.

Giry nodded and went to inspect it.

"How?"

Christine got up and showed her the latch. It wouldn't budge.

They both pulled and shook the latch, but the mirror remained where it was. Giry sighed.

"Are you sure this used to open, dear?"

"It doesn't matter," Christine said weakly as she sat down at her vanity, fiddling with a makeup brush.

A knock came at the door. They both turned to look, as though by staring at it they could see who was on the other side. The knock came again, harsher and louder this time.

Giry reached for her pistol and slowly opened the door.

"Nadir," she breathed a sigh of relief. "What is it? Come in."

Nadir glanced anxiously down the hallway at Joseph Buquet. He knew how easily gossip spread, and with Joseph staring directly at him, the very _last_ thing he wanted was to enter Christine Daae's dressing room. He cleared his throat.

"I, ah, my... _cat_ seems to be missing," he fidgeted. "Have you seen my cat at all?"

Giry stared blankly. This was certainly the first she was hearing about her friend owning a pet.

"What cat?"

"My cat, _my cat_," he said impatiently. "You know which one - black, er, _fur_, glowing yellow eyes... _That white patch on his face_."

Giry paled.

"He's... missing?"

Christine stood next to Giry, frowning.

"He was there when I left, but when I returned home, he was gone. You haven't seen him, have you?"

"No," Giry said sadly.

"_Ohh_!" Christine wailed, placing a hand over her mouth.

"Oh, Christine, I'm sure he'll be okay, dear," Giry tried to soothe her. "I know how deeply you care about... _cats_, but you must remember how resourceful they are!"

"He's been in many situations like this, Christine," Nadir said gently, trying to mask his own worry. "He's always come through just fine. He's a strong... cat."

Christine nodded, teary-eyed.

A few doors away, Joseph narrowed his eyes at the strange scene. What a load of emotions, and all for some mangey cat. He shook his head. There were far worse things than some beast running away.

"But please let me know if you find him," Nadir continued. "I'll be in the audience if you need me."

Giry quickly closed the door as he left.

Christine took a shaky breath, preparing to change into her costume. Her fingers trembled as she did up the buttons and tied the ribbons on the dress - this was one of the new costumes Raoul had commissioned. He had picked the swirling pale pink and cream white fabric just for her, and she felt a lump in throat as she thought of the day he had shown her the sketches, a spark in his eye as he explained how the skirt would lay and the sleeves would drape. She felt like a princess in it, but she was sorely missing her prince and her knight. She sighed and looked at herself in the full length mirror that had steadfastly refused to swing open. The dress fit perfectly, and Raoul had spared no expense when it came to the materials.

She quickly twisted her hair into a simple bun and pinned it hastily. She didn't have the heart to style it any more than that, and she knew any makeup would merely run down her face by the end of the rehearsal.

She stalked out of her dressing room, bare faced and mouth set stoically, the skirts rustling with every step. Giry followed not two steps behind.

Buquet pushed off the wall he was leaning on.

"Daae!" he said urgently. "I have something I need to tell you - please!"

"Not now!" she surprised herself with the commanding tone, the harshness so unlike her, but she had had enough.

She stood stock still behind the stage. Her fingers twitched, but she felt no need to clench her fists. She felt no need to do anything. She merely waited until it was her cue. Giry stood helplessly nearby, unable to do anything and uncertain of what to say.

Finally the music cue arrived. Christine took her place onstage. The haunting piano melody swelled, and she lifted her voice to join it.

"_Think of me, think of me fondly, when we've said goodbye_,"

She thought of Erik's last words to her. Were those to be their last words to each other, ever? _Thank you, Angel_  
She could still feel him.

"_Think of me, think of me waking, silent and resigned_,"

She thought of her papa, and of Raoul there next to him. Her eyes drifted upwards, and she knew it was silly to think that heaven was anywhere near the box seats in the audience, but that's where her eyes drifted, and she saw them both there in her mind's eye.

"_Imagine me, trying too hard to put you from my mind_,"

She let her eyes flutter closed, unable to look at the vast empty building that Raoul had made so many plans for, plans he'd never see completed. Her voice started to waver in a way she didn't appreciate in the least.

"_Recall those days, look back on all those times_,"

She was aware of the tears rolling down her face, of the thick emotion that was threatening to muffle her voice, but she could do nothing to stop either one.

"_Think of the things we'll never do-_"

Her voice broke, a gasp issuing forth in the place of her music. Her eye flew open, and her hand raised to her throat.

Silence permeated the entire stage. The music had stopped completely. Everyone was still. There was only the image of Christine Daae standing in the middle of the stage, hand around her own throat, hair falling out of its pins, no makeup, being swallowed by the enormous gown she wore, the stage lights reflecting off of her watery eyes and making them sparkle as tears dripped from her eyelashes like diamonds, gasping for breath. And in an instant, the image shattered.

"I'm sorry!" she cried aloud, her plea echoing off the walls and reaching to ceiling.

She gathered up her skirts and ran as though all the world were chasing after her. Down off the stage, out the doors which she shoved violently open, their reverberated clanging the only evidence she had even been there at all.

Giry snapped out of her shocked stupor and ran after her.

Carlotta watched as the doors slowly closed in the wake of Christine and Giry. She glanced uneasily at Piangi, who looked down at his feet. In all the years she had competed with that girl, done everything in her power to mock and belittle and rattle her, she had never, ever seen anything break her concentration. In looking around at the other performers faces, she could she reflections of her own feelings of sickly surprise and honest concern. Christine was the strongest of any of them, and to see her break in such a manner-

Giry called out to Christine, imploring her to slow down, to wait, but Christine ran as though she couldn't even hear her. The head start she had was making it difficult to catch up.

"Wait!" a mans voice called out, chasing from behind.

Giry stopped and turned, bracing for a fight.

But it was only Joesph, visibly distraught and on the verge of tears himself. He reached a pleading hand towards her.

"_Please_, you're one of the investigators, aren't you?" he choked out. "I need to talk to you, it's _urgent_."

Christine didn't stop running until she was back in her dressing room, letting the door slam behind her as she fell to the ground in a puddle of tears.

Moments later the door creaked open and then gently closed again, the lock turning.

"I don't want to talk, Madame," she managed.

"Good," said Edwards. "Because I'm not Madame."

Christine jerked back, aghast.

"I don't want to talk to _you_, either!" she spat viciously. "Get of of my room!"

"Now, now, Christine - I simply must talk with you, and I'm afraid it must be now."

"About what?" she demanded, wobbling to her feet.

"Were you with Erik the night before last?"

"N-no! I wasn't, I was at home."

"Are you sure, Christine?"

"I think I know my own whereabouts, Monsieur."

"You were at home? Because I have reason to think otherwise, you know."

Christine was silent, and he continued.

"Imagine my surprise when the men in the tunnel told me that there were two people that they scuffled with that afternoon. It was you, wasn't it, Christine? You were with him in the tunnels, and you were with him that night, too."

"I don't know what you're talking about," her voice wavered.

"Two people, they told me - a young woman, and a man with the face of death. I guess that's why he wears that mask, isn't it?" Edwards chuckled darkly. "Apparently it came off in the fight, didn't it, Christine?"

He advanced on her, and she backed up, reaching for anything on her vanity that could be used as a weapon. Where was Madame?

"I was in the tunnels, yes - but I went right home afterwards. I was home the rest of the evening. I wasn't with Erik at all."

"That's not what Erik told me," he tutted. "He said he was with someone, and it only makes sense that it was you."

"I wasn't," she insisted. "I left and went home. I- I didn't want to be around him, after. You said yourself, 'the face of death' - if you could even call that a face! It was disgusting! Why would I want to spend the evening with _that_?"

Her heart ached to have to say such things about him, to betray her poor Angel, but she had no other choice.

Edwards shook his head.

"You were with him, and you know where he is, don't you?"

"I haven't seen him since after he was arrested."

"Stop lying!" he shouted, making her flinch. "I don't have time for these games! If you don't tell me where he is right now, I'm going to be _very_ upset, Christine. So you better make yourself useful, because I don't keep things that have no use, do I make myself clear? Now where is he?"

"I don't know where he is!" she blindly groped for a pair of scissors she had been using to trim ribbons on her old pointe shoes.

The sound of the hammer cocking on his pistol was a grim reminder that the scissors might not be enough.

"I said I don't know! I don't!"

Surely the strain of it all was getting to her - she was hearing odd thumping noises. Perhaps it was her own heart.

"That's not acceptable!" he reached out a grabbed her arm tightly, yanking her close to him.

She shrieked at the pain of his grip, but used their sudden closeness to jam the scissors into the arm that was holding the pistol.

He shouted, the pistol falling from his hand. She couldn't tell if it had even pierced the fabric of his coat sleeve, but the surprise was enough for her to gain her goal. She brought a well-placed knee up, swiftly making contact with her target. He fell to the ground, but refused to relinquish his hold on her arm, jerking her to her knees. His free hand scrabbled to pick the gun up again as she clawed at the hand on her arm.

It was that moment that the mirror shattered from behind, shards of glass flying out every which way as a dark shape thumped to the floor beside them.


	34. Chapter 34

For the longest moment Christine's mind couldn't make sense of what was happening.

The mirror had exploded, and a shadow had fallen heavily next to them, and Edwards had released her.

Suddenly it came into focus.

_Erik_

Erik behind the mirror. Erik suddenly _not_ behind the mirror anymore. Erik currently strangling Edwards with his bare hands.

_Edwards_

She knew that Edwards had come here tonight to kill her. She knew that Edwards had framed Erik, intending for him to be executed. She knew that Edwards had very likely been the one to kill Raoul.

But she also knew what Raoul would say about it, how he would have responded to such a man. While he would have insisted on justice being carried out, he also would not have considered taking a life in return justice. Christine considered saying nothing - Erik seemed quite intent on his course of action, anyway - but it was with the thought of what Raoul would have her do that she crawled forward and wrapped her small hands around Erik's bony wrist, tugging on it in an attempt to get him to let go of Edwards' neck.

"Don't!" she cried. "Erik, please don't!"

Erik's concentration broke, glancing at sweet Christine who was looking up at him pleadingly. She smiled wryly through her tears.

"At least not in my dressing room," she added.

Erik suddenly remembered himself. It was terribly ungentlemanly to enter a woman's dressing room without invitation, break her mirror, and then kill a man on the floor, all right in front of her.

He released his grip on Edwards. The man had stopped struggling a while before, but Erik could still see the shallow rise and fall of his chest. He made quick work of binding the unconscious man's arms and legs, the fog of rage slowly, slowly receding from him.

He had been hiding an empty box seat during the rehearsal, and had seen how she had fled. It took him longer than he would have liked to make use of the secret and closed off passageways that led back to the tunnel behind the mirror - but he had arrived just in time to hear Christine deny him, to make mention of his _face_ which was _not_ a face.

For the briefest of moments, the blow had struck him as though she were telling the truth. He had staggered back, emotions reeling. But the moment passed and he knew that _of course_ Christine had to say whatever she could to ensure her safety, had to say whatever would convince the hateful officer. But still - to hear those words of scorn and revulsion from her own perfect lips, oh, it _burned_.

Edwards around Christine was not a sin Erik could tolerate. Edwards in Christine's dressing room, the two of them alone while Antoinette - who surely should have arrived by then - was nowhere to be seen was even worse.

He had tried to undo the latch mechanism to swing the mirror open, but to his growing horror it refused to budge, and he realized that in his efforts to hold the latch shut to keep Antoinette and Christine from opening it earlier lest they find him lurking behind it, he had actually succeeded in breaking the device that would have released it.

He watched helplessly as Edwards stalked up to her, threatened her, and he redoubled his efforts at tearing the entire latch off the wall so the mirror could open. He cursed himself bitterly - what use was all his vast intellect, his unparalleled skill, if he couldn't even save Christine? The only woman he had ever fallen in love with was about to be murdered in front of his very eyes, and he was an instant away from being too late to do anything about it.

Christine shrieked as that vile man dared to sully her pristine skin with his vice-like grasp.

Erik saw red. He took several steps backwards to give himself a running start, lunged forward, and shattered the mirror. He jumped down and shoved Edwards away from her, landing a few punches before wrapping his long fingers around the worthless man's throat. He had dared to lay a finger on a heavenly angel, and in Erik's mind that meant the man had forfeited the right to exist.

But suddenly - Christine. Oh, she truly _must_ be an angel to be pleading the case of a man who had so very nearly been the utter ruin of them all, to be able to rise above the need for revenge in such a way. Christine was a celestial being, Erik had no doubt.

He shakily stood after tying up the officer. Adrenaline still raced through his veins, and his hands trembled. He turned to face Christine, her earlier words still echoing in his mind.

_how could that even be a face_

But the thoughts were chased away when she reached out to wrap her arms around him, and he found himself returning the gesture. Empty words, surely - after all, she _had_ stayed the night with him.

"How?" she asked, voice muffled by the fabric of his vest.

"Those blueprints I took from your boy's room proved rather useful as maps of this old building," he swayed just a little, suddenly feeling the after effects of having kicked the mirror in.

She squeaked as she felt him sway.

"Are you alright?" she peered up at him, worried.

He nodded, not wanting to worry her.

"Yes," he said distantly. "Yes, I- I think I just need to sit down a moment."

He sat down on the floor, not bothering to move from where he stood. Christine came down with him, not willing to release him from her arms. He sighed deeply as he held her, idly running his hand up and down her back. He felt the sharp ache travel from his ankle through his knee and into his hip, radiating out into his back. The glass had been rather thick, and in his rage fueled haze he hadn't even realized the amount of effort he had to use to break it down, but now he was feeling the effects of it. He wasn't as young as he used to be, he mused.

But he couldn't complain, not when Christine was safe and here in his arms, nestled against his chest so. He would break down a thousand mirrors for her. He let his eyes slide closed.

"That's seven years of bad luck," Christine sniffled as she looked at the broken shards littering the carpet.

He huffed.

"My dear, I've had nearly fifty years of bad luck already. What's another handful more?"

She laughed a little but suddenly stopped.

"Erik?"

"Hmm?"

"What's that?" she asked in a small voice, pointing a finger at something that most definitely not a piece of the mirror on the carpet.

He glanced in the direction she was pointing. He shifted how he was holding her, placing a finger underneath her chin so he could move her head to face the other direction so that she would no longer see the offending object.

"You don't need to worry about that, dearest," he told her.

"But what is it?" she asked, frowning.

He was quiet a long moment.

"A tooth."

She stilled.

"It's not- oh, it's not one of yours, is it?" she glanced up at him, worried.

He chuckled, and her heart skipped a beat to hear that wonderful sound with her ear pressed against his chest.

"No, Christine, it is not. Your Erik still has all of his teeth, I assure you."

The doorknob rattled loudly, startling them both.

"Christine!" cried Antoinette from the other side. "Open this door right now!"

But before either one could rise to open it, or even to call out and assuage her fears, the door was kicked in.

Antoinette stood in the now open doorway, eyes wide with fear. Her jaw dropped when she saw the scene before her. Erik looked from her down to the small pieces of splintered wood, broken doorknob, and lock that now lay on the floor before look back up at her.

"Antoinette!" Erik admonished, scandalized. "How could you make such a mess of poor Christine's dressing room like that?"

Antoinette sagged against the doorframe, eyes roving over the pair sitting in the middle of the room, surrounded by broken glass and items from her vanity table that had somehow been overturned, scattered makeup palates and brushes, a broken vase and scattered roses. She kicked the doorknob aside and chose to ignore his comment.

"Erik," Antoinette fidgeted anxiously. "I need to speak with you... Without Christine."

Erik stood with slight difficulty, bringing Christine up with him. He made to let her go but she pulled back tighter to him.

"I'm not letting you go," she said before pulling back just enough to turn to Antoinette. "Besides, surely it can be said in front of me?"

Antoinette frowned.

"I just don't want anyone to jump to any conclusions, dear, until we know for certain," she tried to explain.

She walked into the room and motioned for Erik to stoop down so she could whisper something into his ear. All her careful attempts to keep Christine from hearing whatever she had to say were in vain, however, when Erik jerked upright and demanded, tact be damned-

"What the devil do you mean he's still alive?"


	35. Chapter 35

On the evening of Christine's last performance as Marguerite - on the evening of his disappearance - she went to dinner with Raoul. She hadn't seen him in over a year, but now that they were back together she felt like he'd never left. They'd kept in touch through letters, of course, but that couldn't compare to being right there with him.

They were receiving stares at dinner, but she couldn't bring herself to care, and Raoul paid them no mind, either. While some of the other performers who were dining at different tables knew that this was the new patron of the opera house who would be funding a great deal of new improvements, she knew also that there would be gossip that this was a new beau or perhaps even a _personal_ patron of hers. She didn't care. All she cared about was catching up with her dearest friend.

They talked of all the things they'd experienced in their foreign lands - England for her and the North Pole for him. She didn't feel her time studying in England could come close to his adventure, but he listened just as eagerly and made her feel as though she had had just as exciting of a time. She loved that about him. After dinner - and a full bottle of wine - was finished, Raoul ordered an extra bottle of wine. She raised an eyebrow at this, but uttered no word to the contrary.

"For celebrating," he explained, catching the look on her face. "We have so much to celebrate!"

She giggled, her face feeling pleasantly flushed already.

"I take it our night of celebration has yet to end, then?"

"Of course not!"

He paid the bill and stowed the wine bottle in his coat pocket, putting his arm around her shoulder as they left the restaurant. She beamed up at him. How good it was to have him back!

He hailed a horse-drawn cab and they sat in the back and talked about their plans for the future of the opera house.

"You've got some name recognition now," he said. "I think we should commission someone to come up with a new show, just for you. Think about your favorite composers, Lotte, and let me know who you want! If it's a short show, just one act maybe, they might be able to get it finished in time for the next season."

She nodded eagerly, her eyes wide. Her own show, written for her to showcase her voice, by any composer she chose? This was her childhood dream come true!

"Are you sure you can afford all this?"

He waved a dismissive hand.

"Let me worry about that part," he said warmly. "The only thing you should be worried over is picking a composer!"

"Oh, Raoul - it's like a dream!"

"And you deserve the very best of dreams, Christine... Say, is the old zoo still around?"

"It is!"

"Do they still have the African animal exhibit?"

"Oh, it's even bigger now! They acquired several new animals, I've heard."

"Shall we take a look, then?" he grinned mischievously.

"Certainly!" she snickered. "It's only right that the animals celebrate with us!"

Raoul leaned out the little window to inform the driver that there was a change of plans, and the carriage turned down a different road to bring them closer to the zoo. Once they were a block away, Raoul announced that they were to be let off here.

The driver scratched his head as they got out in the middle of the road, but he was paid quite handsomely so he didn't question it too much.

They walked side by side until they arrived at the zoological gardens, which was, of course, closed. They went around to the side of the fence and found their old familiar spot - a bench they could use to climb over the fence and the hedge that was surrounding the zoo.

Christine climbed up first, only slightly unsteady, and Raoul helped hoist her over the fence. She landed on the other side with a little squeak. Raoul was quick to clamber up after her and landed with a loud _oof_, which Christine promptly shushed.

Raoul paused there once inside the fence, biting his tongue in concentration as he searched his pockets for something. At last he pulled out a Swiss Army knife, and from it he produced a corkscrew which he used to open the wine bottle.

Christine put both hands over her mouth to stifle her sniggering, something she seemingly couldn't control tonight.

The bottle now open, he took a long swig of it then handed it to Christine as he wiped his mouth on his coat sleeve. She took a deep sip, trying to remain dignified, but nearly choked when Raoul suddenly ran off at a sprint, yelling "I want to see the alligators!"

She swallowed and ran after him, joining him by his side as he stared at the sleeping alligators on the bank of their pond, his lips turned down in a frown.

"Is Captain Jack still here?" he asked, trying to remain stoic about the fate of his favorite alligator.

She nodded.

"He is. He must be hiding though. I don't see him right now."

He nodded thoughtfully, then turned just as suddenly and began walking away from the exhibit.

She ran after him and tugged on his arm, trying to pull him in a different direction.

"I want to see the monkeys," she nearly begged, and Raoul obliged her.

They lingered by the chimps and by the apes, and finally they stood in front of the cage that held the lemurs.

One of the lemurs was still awake, and blinked at Christine with round, sleepy eyes that glowed a familiar shade of yellow. She wrapped her arms around herself and shuddered.

"How horrible!" she said out loud, not realizing the thought had turned into words.

"What's wrong?" Raoul asked.

"Nothing," she replied, pouting.

"You don't look like nothing's wrong... And it surely can't be the fault of a lemur..."

She sighed. She felt so silly to bring it up, but Raoul always knew what to say to make her feel better about things.

"Madame Giry's partner doesn't like me," she wrinkled her nose.

"Why's that?"

"That's just it! I don't know!"

She felt a bit of guilt over that answer - she _had_ greeted the poor man with a scream as though he were some kind of monster...

"Well how do you know he doesn't like you?"

"He just... he doesn't really talk to me, or look at me, but he does listen to what I talk about with Madame... I just don't understand him," she sighed.

"Maybe he's shy," Raoul offered.

She smiled ruefully. Raoul's normally good advice felt a little off tonight.

"I don't want to talk about Erik anymore," she shook her head.

"Ooo, the mystery man has a name," Raoul teased.

"Raoul!" she shrieked, and the rest of the lemurs awoke and startled at her noise.

"He's not a mystery man," she lowered her voice to hiss. "He's just a man... That I find a mystery... Anyway, let's go look at the African animals."

Raoul good-naturedly dropped the subject, the two of them walking in companionable silence together toward the side of the zoo that housed his favorite animals.

Their first date had been here in this very zoo. It was a place filled with many memories for both of them, a place they had come many times during their friendly but awkward courtship, and a place they still had gone to together after they had both realized the reasons that neither one wanted to take the relationship to the next level - because her heart belonged to the stage, and because he preferred young men to young women. An amiable split, though from the outside few could even tell a difference - they still adored each other and often went out together, though each was more comfortable in the knowledge that there would be no facade to prop up, no need to pretend to want the same things other couples wanted, no pressure to conform to what other people expected of a young man and a young woman who felt such a kinship.

"What's the new animal, Lotte?" Raoul rubbed his hands together, a glint in his eye.

"It's a cat!"

"A big cat?" he asked, awe in his voice.

"No," she giggled. "A really little one, actually! Look, here's the sign!"

She pointed out a sign that read _African Black-Footed Cat_ along with a paragraph of information.

He gave the sign a cursory glance before eagerly looking into the exhibit, a recession in the ground surrounded by a short fence that cane almost up to his shoulders.

"Oh-! Lotte, no- there must be some mistake!" he cried, leaning over the fence of the exhibit and pointing a finger at the new animal. "That's just a cat! A house cat!"

"It's not a house cat! It has stripes and spots, look at it!"

She gestured to the little animal that sat on top a rock, it's feet tucked under itself. It watched with green eyes as the two gestured towards it.

Raoul stared at it a long moment.

"It is very small... I bet- I bet it _could_ be a house cat, if someone put it in a house," he said hopefully.

Christine snorted.

"It would bite you!"

He shook his head vigorously.

"No, it would never! Look how sweet it looks!"

She leaned her arms on the fence, watching as the cat stretched and began walk towards its water bowl.

"It's feet aren't even black..." Raoul sounded on the verge of tears.

Christine made a little noise in the hopes of drawing the tiny beast closer, but it soundly ignored her and she frowned at it.

"That's it," Raoul said, his voice suddenly resolute. "I'm taking it. It's going to be my pet."

"Raoul! It's a wild animal."

"Look at it, Christine! It's just a regular cat! It won't even know the difference! It won't remember how to be wild once it's in the house... It can live with me, I'm sure it'll be happy!"

He made to jump over the fence, but Christine grabbed his arm.

"Wait! I won't be able to pull you out once you go in!" she squealed.

He looked disappointed, but he pulled back from the fence.

"Maybe next time..." he murmured, still looking longingly at the cat.

"Next time," she agreed soothingly, not bothering to mention that she'd still be just as short and just as incapable of pulling him out of the exhibit the next time, too.

They walked slowly past the elephants and the lions and the zebras, and finally they stopped and sat on a bench so they could rest their feet as they finished off the open bottle of wine.

"Now you're the one looking pensive," Christine said gently as she watched him drink. "Don't tell me you're still thinking of the little cat..."

He shook his head and gesture to the little food vendor stand across from them. It was closed now, of course, boarded up and locked to keep it safe for the next day, but the bright shiny sign showed that this was a churro stand.

"Mateo taught me how to cook churros..."

"Who's Mateo?"

Raoul shrugged and looked unhappy.

"He was on the ship with me, up at the North Pole... We were- we were very close. I had been hoping that we could continue being close after the expedition had ended, but... He didn't want to keep in touch," he looked away, glum.

"Oh, Raoul... I'm so sorry," she said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Do you miss him very much?"

"I do... I really liked him, Lotte," he admitted sheepishly. "We used to stay up late and read poetry, and he knew so many recipes that he taught to me... But my favorite was the churros..."

He leaned back on the bench, a faraway look in his eye, and ran a hand through his hair. His expression held all the sadness in the world, as though in his anguish he was pondering the ephemeral nature of love and the inevitably of loss.

"Fuck, I wish I had a churro."

Christine cooed in sympathy.

"Let's go look at something else," he stood, hoping to find something to take his mind off thoughts of the past.

They ended up by the duck pond, an attraction that was meant for children but never ceased to appeal to both Raoul and Christine.

Normally the ducks would be sleeping on the surface of the water when they came to the zoo so late, but the ducks were awake and uneasy tonight, something that in their inebriated state they didn't even stop to consider.

Raoul reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief full of crushed breadsticks from the restaurant. He pulled off a little chunk and threw it to the pond, the swish of ducks paddling to be the one to get the tasty morsel loud in the otherwise quiet night.

Christine gasped.

"Raoul, bread is bad for them!"

"But they like it!"

"That doesn't mean it isn't bad!"

He considered this a moment, then threw another piece to the lake where it was swiftly devoured.

"It'll be fine - just this once, Christine! They can have a little bread, as a treat!"

Christine sighed loudly and theatrically, but held her hand out for some bread.

"Raoul, you're terrible. Give me some. I want to feed them too."

She joined him in tossing the crumbs to the birds, and though they'd surely have stomachaches the next day from all the bread, she did have to admit they looked awfully cute as they darted this way and that and wiggled their tails in their chase of the treats.

She started, certain she had heard something. She turned and looked at the deserted zoo behind them, not daring to blink.

"What was that?" she asked quietly.

Raoul paused and frowned at the dark emptiness.

"I didn't hear anything," he finally said.

She took a step closer to Raoul and tried to forget about it. Her imagination ran away with her, sometimes.

They looked at a few more exhibits before realizing how late it was. They did a last farewell tour of the animals that were still awake, Christine nearly having to pry him away from the Black-Footed Cat exhibit as he cried over how small and precious it was, and at last they climbed over the fence once more.

They walked the deserted streets of Paris and talked softly about their plans for the next week. The chilly night air helped to clear their heads from the last of the wine, though a pleasant buzz still lingered.

At last they found themselves on the doorstep of the apartment building where Christine lived.

"Are you sure you don't want to come up with me? It's so late, and your house is so far," Christine offered.

Raoul shook his head.

"No, it's fine. I don't mind. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

He hugged her tightly and she leaned into the embrace, closing her eyes and smiling. How nice it was to have him back again.

"Tomorrow," she agreed as turned for the steps to her door. "Sleep well, Raoul."

"Goodnight, Lotte."

He smiled to himself as he started on his way to his house. It would be a long walk indeed, but he enjoyed walking. He wasn't very far from Christine's building when he spotted someone on the street.

It wasn't a very odd thing, to see someone else on the street - but this man was headed straight for him, so Raoul paused.

As he approached, he realized that he knew this man. Raoul smiled wider.

"Oh!" he said to him. "I know you - you work at the opera house, don't you?"

He racked his brain to remember the man's name - he felt it important to remember the names of the people who worked for him, regardless of how menial a worker. He knew this man's name, he certainly did - it was Joshua or Jonas or something-

"You're-"

The smile on his face faded and his still-foggy mind stuttered as the man pulled out a gun from his vest pocket and pointed it at Raoul.

"Joseph Buquet..."


	36. Chapter 36

The words fell blankly in the air, Raoul struggling to make sense of what was happening. He searched Joseph's face, confused, even as he raised his hands in the hopes that he wouldn't be shot.

Joseph's hand trembled, causing the gun to shake just slightly, and his face held a look of regret.

"Turn around," he said gruffly, and Raoul turned, his heart in his throat.

Was this really how his life would end? He'd pull the trigger any second and-

"Put your hands behind your back," Joseph barked.

Raoul did so and felt the cold metal of handcuffs slip over his wrists and click shut.

Joseph turned him around and put his arm through his, leading him down the road while keeping his pistol pressed into Raoul's side.

"Where are we going?" Raoul asked in a daze, scarcely realizing he'd even asked.

Joseph frowned uncomfortably, trying not to look at Raoul.

He was already unsettled that Raoul knew who he was - he had asked Edwards if he'd need a mask or disguise to kidnap him, but Edwards had been dismissive, laughing in his face when he had brought it up.

_"You're no one, Buquet. No one knows you are. No one even remembers you. A mask will only draw more attention to yourself. The kid'll never even realize."_

But Edwards had been wrong. What else might he be wrong about?

"Don't talk," he hissed, hoping he sounded braver than he felt. "If you talk, I'll- I'll shoot."

He felt horrified at his own words, but Raoul seemed to believe them for he didn't utter another word.

Raoul's mind felt too slow, both from drink and terror. He considered trying to escape but feared in his current state he would be too slow, too clumsy, and he didn't want to only further enrage Joseph and goad him into shooting him.

He looked up with hazy eyes, realizing they were outside of the opera house, but not able to understand why.

Joseph paused, reaching into his jacket and pulling out an old sack. Raoul felt another spike of fear as the sack was placed over his head, and he tried to jerk away out of reflex, but his attempts were futile.

Once blinded by the sack, he was marched down various sets of stairs and they took many twists and turns. At last he pushed into a room and the sack pulled off his head.

A single lightbulb hung from the ceiling, illuminating a very small room that held a tiny cot and not much else. Raoul took it in and then looked up at Joseph, still not understanding.

"Why?" he asked. "Joseph, why are you doing this? Is something wrong? Can't I make it right?"

Joseph shifted nervously as he backed up to the door, preparing to leave. Those pleading gray eyes were making him feel so guilty.

"It won't be for long," he tried to assure him. "Just until your brother pays back his debt."

Raoul's eyebrows knit.

"My brother always pays his debt! This isn't necessary! How much does he owe?"

Joseph shrugged.

"Nearly a million francs, I think. But like you say - he'll pay it back, and you'll be free."

Raoul paled. A million francs? His brother owed a million francs? That was far more than any gambling debt he'd incurred in the past... And he thought he knew the reason why Philippe hadn't been able to pay it back yet...

Because Raoul had just invested nearly a million francs in the opera house.

He wasn't ever getting out of here.

Joseph apologized as he left, but Raoul barely heard him, his mind still reeling from this new knowledge as he stumbled backwards, hitting the wall and sinking to the floor.

When Joseph returned the following day, he found Raoul sitting quietly in the corner as though he'd never even moved from the spot he'd first sat down in. He didn't know, of course, that after Raoul had sobered up he'd scoured every inch of the little place twice over, looking for a way out and then for anything he could use as a weapon.

He had found nothing on both accounts.

Joseph looked embarrassed as he entered the room. It was one thing to kidnap your boss - it was quite another to have your boss know you were the one to kidnap him.

"Good morning, Joseph," Raoul tried to be friendly. "At least I think it's morning... Hard to tell down here, you know."

Joseph shrugged. He held out a key.

"Your handcuffs..." he muttered. "They can't be very comfortable."

Raoul tried to stand, and after a moment Joseph stooped to help him up. He unlocked the cuffs, and Raoul rubbed at his wrists and shook his arms, trying to get the feeling back into them.

"Did you hear from Philippe?" he asked, without any real hope.

"Ah. No. Sorry."

He stood there a moment, uncertain of what to do. He already regretted having found himself roped into this caper, had regretted it from the very start. He hung his head, not able to look at Raoul any longer.

"If your brother doesn't pay up soon, I'll bring you some food, I suppose," he muttered, and turned for the locked door.

"Thank you, Joseph," Raoul said, then paused. "You're a good man."

The words were said without a trace of sarcasm and they pierced the very core of Joseph's soul.

Raoul knew how he often appeared to others - sometimes a little simple, more often a young man who enjoyed the finer things in life, the frivolous things, someone who lived on the surface of everything and never thought too deeply or for too long. It was, on occasion, a facade he himself encouraged - but it was image that was very far from the truth. He enjoyed frivolity, of course he did - but he was no simpleton.

He had studied a great many subjects both before and during his time with the Marine Nationale, and he was no stranger to concepts of strategy and wartime psychology. He knew that Joseph likely wasn't acting alone, and judging from the man's body language he seemed conflicted. If he could exploit that inner conflict- if he could gain Joseph's trust-

He and Joseph were no strangers to each other, even though they had probably interacted only once and in passing. Raoul knew that Joseph knew that Raoul knew who he was - and this was a huge liability. Presuming Philippe worked it out eventually and paid for Raoul's release - presuming he _didn't_ \- it was a problem either way. If he could go to lengths to convince Joseph that he wasn't upset with him, it might go easier all around. He might even be able to work out a bargain with Joseph - he would cover for him and promise to not turn him in if he released him. It was certainly worth a try, he thought.

It puzzled Joseph to no end, Raoul's friendliness towards him. Shouldn't he be mad? Shouldn't he be threatening him? Yet there he was, smiling at him, using his name like he was a person, asking how his day was.

He didn't come to visit him often, but he tried to bring him food at least every other day. It was difficult - not only was it hard to find time to steal away and not draw attention to where he was going, he was also on limited funds to buy even his own food, let alone food for Raoul. Edwards had firmly refused to pay for the boy's food, especially when it became evident that Philippe was in fact _unable_ to pay his debt.

But still, Joseph brought him what he could, eager to please him - he _was_ technically still his boss, after all. When - if - Raoul got out of this, Joseph knew he was going to be in deep trouble. He hoped to ease the amount of trouble by treating him as well as he could in the meantime, something that was made easier - and, curiously enough, harder - by how Raoul treated him. When was the last time someone had asked him how his day was? Sometimes Joseph wanted to weep over it all.

Time dragged from days to weeks to months.

When Raoul began to ask for small novelties, Joseph tried his best to bring them. A deck of cards, a rosary, a comb, a tennis ball, a book - Raoul thanked him for each one. He had, of course, to turn down the request for a razor to shave his face - the item might be used as a weapon, regardless of much Raoul pouted that a beard didn't suit his face.

He also had to turn down another of Raoul's requests.

"You don't think you could let me out of here, do you?"

Joseph squirmed nervously.

"I can't," he said, uncomfortable. "I'm sorry. It's not up to me. I would if I could, but-"

Raoul nodded. He hadn't expected it to work, not truly. He stifled a sigh and began to bounce the tennis ball off the wall, catching it each time.

"How did someone like you end up here, Joseph?"

"What'd you mean, like me?" he asked suspiciously.

"Well, you don't seem the kidnapping type... So how did you go from decent, upright work in my theater to- this?"

Joseph stayed sullenly silent for a moment. He almost regretted spending time here with him if he had to be reminded of the mess he'd gotten himself into... But he had heard somewhere that being isolated for extended periods of time could damage one's mind, and Edwards would surely punish him if the boy came out of this with a damaged mind - so he had taken to staying in the little room for a while after he had brought food or water, ten or twenty minutes at most, enough to keep Raoul from going too crazy.

He opened his mouth to reproach Raoul's question, to tell him off, insult him - but he found he couldn't. He shut his mouth and looked away, blinking hard.

Something about Raoul's continued kindness had worn away his defenses, and though he knew it unadvisable, he let the entire story spill.

It had started in a pawn shop - he supposed, though, that it had really started somewhere back farther, sometime around when a swig of rum now and then turned from an occasional treat to a necessity, a necessity that had to be paid for by nearly means possible. But it had all come to a head at the pawn shop only a handful of months ago, when he had laid out a jeweled brooch on the counter in front of the pawn shop owner... and, unknowingly, in front of Edwards, who was watching from around the corner of a row of merchandise.

"I think it's fake," the shop owner shrugged.

"It's not fake," Joseph said indignantly. "This brooch belonged to a Marquis!"

"What Marquis?"

"Marquis de Rully."

"Oh?"

The man leaned in closer, taking a second look at the item. He didn't ask how the item had gone from the possession of a Marquis to a dirty drunk, and he didn't care. All he cared was that this valuable item might bring some good money to his store.

"Marquis de Rully?" a voice suddenly asked.

They both turned and noticed a man with sharp eyes watching them both.

"Is that the same Marquis de Rully who was robbed recently?" he continued as he sauntered up to the counter.

Joseph's face went blank. Had the Marquis been robbed? He didn't know... He had gotten the brooch from the opera house lost and found. He'd watched the brooch sit there for nearly two weeks - two excruciating weeks, not knowing if the man would come back for it or not, and then, when at last he felt the Marquis had truly forgotten about it, Joseph had swiped it when no one else was around. So many various little things ended up in that box, things no one ever came back or even realized were missing - no one would miss it!

Joseph's mind scrambled for something to say.

"What's it to you?" he finally said, kicking himself for not being able to think of anything better.

The man raised an eyebrow.

"Because I'm the Police Chief investing the robbery."

The shopkeeper looked nervous and made himself scarce - a cop asking about stolen goods was the last thing he needed.

"What's your name?" the policeman asked.

"Joseph..."

"Did you steal that lovely jewel, Joseph?" he nodded to the brooch Joseph was fiddling with.

"No! No..."

Perhaps he had, but not in the way this man was thinking! He'd picked up a lost and forgotten bauble off the ground, not smashed the Marquis's window and raided his jewelry box!

"Who would believe you?"

The tone in which it was said made Joseph's blood run cold.

"What?"

"Who do you think anyone will believe about this, me or you?"

Joseph was silent, and the man laughed at the look of shock and bewilderment on his face.

"You're going to jail, Joseph!" he taunted. "You're going to jail for a long time and there's nothing you can do to change that!... Or, is there?"

Joseph gave him a sullen look.

"You want the brooch, don't you?"

"No, Joseph... I want you. I want your help in something. Can you do that for me?"

"What do you need help with?"

"You'll find out, soon enough."

Joseph hesitated, and the man grew impatient.

"Look, hurry up and make your choice, pal, I don't have all day. You gonna help me, or are you gonna go to jail? I got enough proof here to send you away for a long time."

And just like that, Joseph had found himself ensnared in a tangle of crimes he'd never wanted to be a part of.

He rubbed his sleeve across his eyes as he told Raoul.

"I never meant to, but I had no other way. Who was going to believe me? You know how big of a file I got down at the police station, how many times they pick me up on the way home from the bar? No one would think twice about shipping me off to some place permanently."

Raoul listened with compassion, nodding understandingly.

"He needed a new crony to do jobs for him, I guess, 'cause he said he was missing a couple guys who normally worked for him - you know what happened to them? He set 'em up, got 'em arrested for something _he_ was doing. He comes out looking like a big shot cop, the guys who pissed him off get sent to jail, and everything works out!"

He ran his hands through his hair, his eyes going wide, then continued.

"That's gonna happen to me," he said in a whisper. "Oh, I just know it. When this all over, I'll be the one to take the fall and he'll come out smelling like a rose..."

"It doesn't have to!" Raoul said. "It doesn't have to end that way! If you let me out, I can help you!"

Joseph shook his head sadly.

"No," he said. "See, you're just delirious from lack of fresh air and food... You still think there's hope. But me-" he tapped his temple. "I thought this all out, every outcome. There's not one that's good and also realistic. There's no good way out of this..."

Raoul felt his own hope drain away even as his mind rebelled against his captor's words.

"I can tell the police-"

"How many police do you think he has working for him? How can we tell who to trust and who's on his side?"

Raoul dropped the tennis ball and didn't bother to pick it up.

"We'll be lucky if we both get out if this alive," Joseph joked weakly.

Raoul didn't feel particularly lucky, but he tried to smile anyway.

Trying to stay lighthearted about the whole thing, Raoul turned it into a running joke between them - Joseph would enter the room nearly every day, and each time Raoul would ask if today was the day. They'd both smile wryly as Joseph shook his head and waved his hand in dismissal.

It was a joke that suddenly ceased to be funny one night, because it wasn't too long after that that Joseph's fear seemed confirmed. Edwards dropped by his apartment late one evening with a message for him.

"You gotta get rid of the boy."

"What do you mean?"

But he was afraid he already knew what he meant.

"You'll find a pistol dropped off behind the door on the Rue Scribe entrance, you take that, _use it_, drop it in the lake under the opera house, then you leave the body behind the door of the Rue Scribe entrance tomorrow night, and I'll take care of it from there."

"Kill him? You want me to kill him?" his face paled at the very thought.

"Did I stutter?"

He turned to leave Joseph's apartment, but, sensing his hesitance to his new job, he told him-

"It's him or you, you know."

And without another word, he left.

Joseph didn't think he'd ever been so nervous about something in his entire life. Could he actually do this? What choice did he have?

Every step towards his workplace drew him closer to the finality of what he had to do. He found the pistol where it had been promised, and he slowly walked the many stairs down to the room on the cellar where Raoul was locked.

He was greeted by a tired looking Raoul who smiled when he saw him, but his smile quickly faded as he took in the expression on Joseph's face. His eyes fell to what was in his hands, and suddenly Raoul understood.

"Oh," he said, his voice beginning to tremble. "Is this it, then?"

Joseph swallowed hard, trying not to look at him.

"Can you give me a minute?" Raoul scrambled for his rosary and Joseph gave a single nod.

He watched as Raoul scrunched his eyes shut, squeezing the beads in his trembling hands and he whispered something under his breath. His hand felt so sweaty on the pistol he was afraid he might drop it.

His heart was hammering in his chest as Raoul finally turned to face him as he sat on his cot, his hands gripping the edge of it so tightly his knuckles turned white. He tried to take a deep breath. He failed.

"Joseph - will you take my confession, before?"

"What?" he didn't understand.

"I'm Catholic, and I haven't been to confession and- and I know you're not a priest, but you can still hear it, and it's important to me... I can't die with unconfessed sins... And- and I think you sort of owe it to me, considering I'm not even able to have the Last Rites..."

Joseph broke down into a sob. He couldn't do this. He couldn't.

He ran out of the little room, the door slamming shut and automatically locking behind him. He dropped the pistol somewhere along the path back upstairs.

He ran until he was upstairs again. His sobs had stopped, thankfully, but he was still distraught.

He noticed Daaé in the hallway - Edwards had made mention of her, too - and he realized that the man who normally guarded her couldn't possibly be in on Edwards's crimes or else Edwards wouldn't still be looking for a way for her to be kidnapped.

The brief interaction with her was sobering. He realized what Edwards trying to do - he was pinning the murder of Raoul on that tall man with the mask. If he killed Raoul, he wouldn't just be taking one life... He'd be taking two.

He made up his mind. He had to tell them. He didn't care how they brushed him off or how long he had to wait outside her door or behind stage - he _had_ to tell them.

Finally he had his chance when Giry turned to him in the hallway after Christine had run off.

"I need to talk to you, it's urgent."

Giry stayed and listened to him with suspicion.

He pressed the heels of his palms over his eyes as the story spilled out of him.

"Raoul isn't dead - he's in the cellars - please, Edwards is blackmailing me! You have to help us! He wants me to kill him and he said he'd kill me if I don't! But I don't want to kill him, I can't do it! I can take you to him but you have to protect us both from Edwards!"

"Come with me-" Giry motioned for him to follow as she ran to Christine's dressing room.

He hung back as she kicked down down the door, but once she had entered the room he peeked in around the corner and heaved a sigh of relief at the sight of Edwards unconscious and with his hands bound - not to mention the tall masked man was seemingly safe, as well.

Now, if only he could also be assured of his own safety.


	37. Chapter 37

Antoinette sighed wearily and placed a hand over her eyes.

"Erik! What did I say when I entered this room?"

Christine let her arms fall from their place around Erik as she stepped back with a small gasp.

"Who's alive?" she asked. "Who is it?"

"Dear, please don't get your hopes up," Antoinette hastily told her. "I didn't want you to know until we knew for certain, but- there is a very small chance that Raoul might still be alive. And there's an even bigger chance the whole thing is a trap."

Joseph stood outside the doorway, uncertain.

"It's not a trap," he said quietly, then flinched as Erik glared at him.

"Are you the one to lead us to him, then?" Erik asked, his voice stern.

Joseph nodded, then paused.

"If I give you Raoul, you have to promise that you'll keep me safe from him," he pointed at Edwards on the floor.

Erik felt a bit of sympathy for Joseph - they were both victims of Edwards, it seemed - but he decided to remain cautious.

"You tell us where Raoul is first," he said, and Joseph's shouldered slumped.

Still, he had no other choice - he would lead them to Raoul and hope for the best.

"Where is he?" Erik demanded.

Was he really going to just stand there and gawk at him? Tell them what he wanted to say already!

"He's in the cellars," Joseph's voice was barely above a whisper.

"The opera house cellars?"

He nodded.

Erik wanted to groan. The boy had been right under their feet this entire time and they hadn't even known.

"Antoinette, go get Nadir then call his office. We need backup."

She left quickly. Edwards was still unconscious, but she knew he'd wake up soon - Erik, though, had a small doubt in the back of his mind about this, but he knew there was likely more of his cronies in the cellars regardless of if Edwards awoke or not.

She returned after a moment and the two interrogated Joseph, who looked frightened and pale but he answered each and every question and even offered more information than they asked.

Antoinette wrote everything he said down in her notebook. She was already building a court case her head - the action against Edwards needed to be swift and certain. If it wasn't- well, they would all be in trouble. But with Joseph's help, and perhaps even Philippe's, they likely stood a very good chance.

Presuming, she thought grimly, that the judge was impartial and not on Edwards's payroll.

Christine said nothing the whole time, just listened to Buquet's story as she clung to Erik, her arms tightly wound around his waist. He barely seemed to notice her there as he listened intently and posed questions, but the arm he had comfortingly around her shoulders said otherwise.

It wasn't long before Nadir and several of his most trusted officers arrived. Joseph took a step towards Erik - the man was intimidating, but he was Joseph's only hope of protection.

"Are you sure we can trust him?" he asked in a low whisper as Nadir and his men stood over Edwards and tried to figure out how to move him.

"I trust everything about him..." Erik replied. "Except his taste in music."

Nadir shot him an annoyed look.

"Does he have any head or neck trauma?" he nodded to Edwards.

"I imagine he has a lot of trauma," Erik sniffed.

"You did punch him pretty hard," Christine offered weakly.

Nadir ordered one of his men to call for a doctor - he was hesitant to move him if it could make an injury worse - the last thing they needed was to be sued.

"Nadir I want you to come with us - Buquet says he's going to show us where Raoul is," Erik said.

Joseph avoided looking at Nadir - the two were already quiet acquainted. How many times had Nadir arrested him? They'd both lost count.

"Antoinette, can you stay here and impress upon the medical team how critical it is that this - _man_," he said with disdain. "Does not escape?"

"Of course," she nodded.

He looked down at Christine, and she looked right back at him with determination.

"It's going to be dangerous," he said softly, but by now he knew better than to try to deter her.

"I know."

"I assume you are intent on coming, regardless?"

"If he's really down there - I can't not go."

"I want you to stay between me and Nadir, okay?"

"Okay."

It was in that way that the four of them went down into the cellars - Joseph in front, leading, followed by Erik, then Christine, and then Nadir.

Antoinette stayed back in the dressing room along with three of Nadir's men, and she shared her notes with them, bringing everyone up to speed on what was going on.

Erik dearly hoped the boy was really down here - and still alive - because he was going to feel pretty foolish if this was yet another trap - _the very same trap_ \- that they finally fell into.

In his room, Raoul heard footsteps and then the lock on the door rattling. He let out a huff of an exhale. His chest felt like it was being squeezed as tightly as his sweaty, clammy fingers were squeezing the rosary beads. He blinked back tears as the door opened slowly, wondering if Joseph was finally going to let him go - or if he was going to just kill him instead.

But the figure standing in the doorway wasn't Joseph.

It was the tallest man Raoul had ever seen, a mask covering his face and a pistol pointed directly at him.

An executioner.

Joseph couldn't kill him, so he had brought this man to do it instead.

His heart stuttered. There was no mercy in this man's eyes, and he knew without a doubt that this was the kind of man who could pull the trigger and not think twice about. He could tug on Joseph's strings and manipulate him as best he could, but his luck had run out with this man.

All of these thoughts flashed through Raoul's mind in an instant. Erik lowered the gun and opened the door wider, eyeing the incredibly pale young man who looked beyond terrified as he sat on the edge of the cot. Buquet had been telling the truth after all.

Upon seeing Erik open the door wider, Christine stuck her head in to see the inside of the tiny room.

"_Raoul!_" she screamed, and darted past Erik.

Raoul could scarcely believe it. Was this Christine?!

"Oh Raoul!" she fell to her knees in front him, pulling him into her tight embrace.

"Christine!"

Neither one could speak for a long moment - they were both too overcome with emotions. She gave no thought to her big pink skirt that was currently getting dirty from how they were sitting in the floor.

"You're alive! Oh, they said you were- but it doesn't matter now, all that matters is that you're safe now! This nightmare is all over now."

She kissed his face, over and over, as they both wept, and she smoothed back his messy hair and gave no second thought to how unkept he was.

Out in the dim cellar beyond the little room, Nadir studied Joseph a moment, then placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed.

"You did the right thing," he said quietly.

Joseph merely gave a single nod. He had done the right thing, but his own future still felt hazy.

Erik watched them hug and kiss on the floor, feeling a strange sense of detachment. Christine was right - the nightmare was over. So was the time he got to spend around her. She had her fiancée back, finally, and she no longer needed Erik.

"Christine, what are you doing here?" Raoul asked through his tears.

"We came to save you. You're safe now."

Erik cleared his throat. The little scene on the floor was becoming difficult to watch. If he had one scant comfort, it was that she hadn't kissed him on the mouth - probably because the boy had been in lack of a toothbrush for some time now. Still, seeing her pepper his cheeks and forehead with kisses was a stark reminder that those lips which had sung so sweetly for him belonged to someone else.

"Let's get you upstairs," Erik said stiffly.

Christine and Raoul stood, and Joseph led them back upstairs. Erik straggled behind the little group, a deep sadness settling in his chest at the sight of them together. It did not escape him how she clung to Raoul now, the same way she had been clinging to Erik not even a half hour ago. Raoul seemed just as reluctant to let her go, as well.

He scolded himself for the things he felt. The closing of this case signaled the end of whatever had been between him and Christine, yes - but it also signaled the end of him having to hide from the authorities and the threat of a phony murder charge, the end of Christine missing her dear boy, and the end of the poor boy being locked in a room for months. This should be a happy event, not one that felt depressing.

Still, it felt that way all the same.

When they returned above they found that, after the go-ahead from the doctor, Edwards (who had awoken at some point) was handcuffed and placed into the back of the police wagon where he was now groggily awaiting whatever would become of him.

Antoinette couldn't describe the relief she felt when she saw Raoul. He looked scraggly, and he hunched over just a little like he was afraid of all the open space around him, but he also looked relieved to be out of his prison. He blinked hard against the garish lights he was no longer used to.

"If you're feeling up to it," Nadir said. "Would you mind coming to the station with us so we can sort out what happened exactly?"

"I don't mind," Raoul replied.

"Joseph, you'll have to come too," Nadir added gently.

"Joseph was nothing but kind to me, considering," Raoul spoke up in defense of his former captor.

"We know," Nadir assured him. "But he still has to come. I don't want any detail left out. The case against the man who did this to you - to all of you - has to be airtight."

"Do you want me to call your brother, Raoul?" Antoinette asked.

"Yes, please!"

"He can meet us at the station."

The rest of the afternoon and early evening was a blur. They went to the station, Nadir's officers transporting Edwards, and, since no one wanted to put Buquet in the locked wagon with him, they decided to let him ride at the front of the carriage with the officers. In the back of another cab Antoinette and Erik sat next to each other, facing Christine and Raoul across from them. Christine only had eyes for Raoul, and that made Erik feel antsy.

Once at the station at least, there was plenty to take his mind off of it.

He had his own account to give and get down on the record, and then he listened to the accounts of Raoul, then Buquet, and, when he at last showed up, Philippe.

Philippe was in tears over the whole thing. He hadn't known yet about the rumor that Raoul had been killed, but when he realized how close he had come to losing his little brother, it broke him. He agreed to testify in court against Edwards and to share all he knew, no holding back - Edwards was running underground casinos and bars and was using members of the police to help him get away with it.

"Oh Raoul," he sobbed. "Can you ever forgive me?"

"Of course, of course," he cried.

There were matters to be resolved and paperwork to file and questions to answer and people to contact, and by the time it was dark out Nadir was certain that once they got the case in front of a judge, Edwards would spend the rest of his life in jail.

Edwards was currently in the holding cell, and Erik was standing at the end of the hallway that led to the cells, looking but not daring to enter the hall, squeezing his hands to steady the tremble in them.

Edwards was sitting with his back against the wall, his eyes closed - his face was swollen and his nose looked broken, and there were dark bruises around his neck in the shape of Erik's hands. He coughed a little, then winced and grabbed at his ribs.

Erik doubted he'd be healed by the time his trial was over.

Somehow that thought, and the thought of him never having his freedom again, didn't quite fill Erik with the glee he thought it would. It only made him feel tired. He couldn't gloat, not when he himself had been in that same position not so very long ago. If Christine hadn't stopped him-

He wondered which outcome Edwards would have preferred. He wondered which he would have preferred.

There was too much paperwork either way.

"Erik?"

Erik flinched. He hadn't heard Nadir approach, too lost in his own thoughts.

"Are you okay?"

Erik turned away from the hallway.

"I'm fine," he nodded, but still looked pensive. "Is Christine still here?"

"Ah, no. She left already, along with the de Chagnys," he noticed the disappointment on Erik's face as he told him. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay. Do you need help with anything?"

Nadir didn't need help, but he knew Erik didn't want go home just yet.

"Yes, actually. I have a few more things to get done before I go. Could you pitch in?"

Erik readily agreed, even though he did know that the tasks were mostly busywork. He needed to keep his mind busy, or else he'd start to think about how Christine had left without even saying goodbye to him.

Christine was back at the Girys' with Meg, who was helping her pack her suitcase back up. With the case practically settled, she was free to go back to her own apartment, though she was going to spend one last night at the Girys simply because it was too exhausting to do otherwise.

"Your own bed, your own room, your own shower - oh, it's going to feel so spacious after this!" Meg said as she put Christine's extra shoes back into her suitcase.

"I feel like I haven't been there in ages!" she agreed.

"And you'll finally have your freedom back - no more being tailed by Maman or Erik!"

Realization hit her like a lightning bolt.

No more Erik.

She felt a pang of regret - in her haste to get home to a soft bed and recover from the day, she had jumped at the chance go with Philippe and Raoul, who dropped her off the at Girys on the way to their mansion. She hadn't said anything to Erik when she'd left - she'd taken it for granted that she'd be seeing him the very next day. He'd become such a part of her life, as though he'd always been there and always would. But that wasn't the case, was it?

It was a curious feeling to think of - if he was going to be in her future or not. She would have to take action if she wanted it to be the case, he wouldn't simply _be there_ of his own volition.

She would call him tonight, she decided - right after she had settled for bed, she'd call him and thank him and maybe they'd make small talk of some sort... She'd say how glad she was that he was free and not in danger anymore, and how she appreciated his fortitude in the whole situation.

She was brushing her hair and daydreaming about how the conversation would go when suddenly the phone rang.

Meg answered it, then handed it to Christine.

It was Raoul.

"Lotte," he greeted her, his characteristic mirth audible in his voice, but there was something else there too - Christine thought it sounded like fear. "Do you mind if talk a while?"

"I never mind, Raoul."

It turned out he merely wanted someone to chat to, to be able to hear the voice of another person. They talked of nothing of importance until early in the morning when Raoul finally fell asleep on the line.

Christine yawned as she tried to hang the phone up as quietly as she could. It accidentally rattled in the darkness and Meg turned over on her bed and hissed at Christine.

Christine rolled her eyes and smiled as she flopped back down on her own little bed. She thought of Raoul, and how she began to realize that he'd likely need more support in the coming months to recover from his ordeal. She was more than willing to help in any way she could, and if that meant late night calls for the foreseeable future, she was fine with that.

Underneath all of the thoughts of Raoul, the last thought that floated through her mind was of Erik and how he had saved her life that day.


	38. Chapter 38

Erik was surprised to find Antoinette at the office when he returned home for the night. His surprise quickly turned to apprehension at the look on her face.

"Erik, I-" she tried to meet his eye, but quickly lost the nerve. "When Nadir-"

Erik had a bad feeling about this.

"I had to- well, I... After you were- I, ah, I went in your room."

"Oh?" his brow creased underneath of his mask.

"I was in your room because I was searching your room," she let the words hang in the air and she dared another glance at his blank face. "I wasn't very tidy about it, I'm afraid."

Erik looked at the stairs, the full weight of what she had said sinking in.

She'd searched his rooms.

He quickly went upstairs, and Antoinette followed close behind.

"I tried to put things away as best I could, but I didn't have time to finish and I know it's not quite the same-" she explained nervously.

He stood in the doorway, staring at all of his belongings. Some were still scattered here and there, and others were put away but not in the places Erik had left them.

"You searched my room," he said flatly.

"I did," she said, miserable.

It wasn't as though he had anything hidden in his room, no great secret to conceal. But it was _his_ room, and those were _his_ belongings, and the thought that someone had been through all of them made him feel awkward and strange, as though a secret part of his life was now on full display.

"It's no more than I would have done to any other-" she faltered.

"Any other suspect," he finished for her.

"I can help you put the rest awa-"

"No."

He knew it only made sense - he had been arrested. There had been evidence implicating him. He was more than capable of doing what he had been accused of - he _had_ done it dozens of times over in the past. It wasn't a stretch to think that his room should be searched. It was logical, and the correct choice for Antoinette to choose. It shouldn't hurt for him to admit this.

And yet, it did.

Underneath every logical explanation and despite the fact that he would have told her to do so had it been anyone else in his place, the thought that Antoinette actually thought he had done this hurt him deeply.

"I'm so sorry, Erik," she sounded on the verge of tears.

He took a deep breath through the nose of his mask.

"It's alright," he said, his voice right.

"No," she shook her head. "It's not..."

"You're right. It's not."

"I don't know how to make it up to you," she admitted.

He was quiet a long moment.

"Neither do I."

He entered his room and began arranging things to his liking once more, but Antoinette stayed just on the other side of the threshold, squeezing her hands together.

She took a deep breath.

"I also went in the basement."

He stilled. The basement. Had she seen the songs? She must have.

"Oh," was all he said.

"I'm sorry," she said again in a whisper.

He shrugged a little.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he told her, turning away from her.

She took the hint, nodding and leaving.

He was up late that night, sorting and rearranging. He only wished that emotions could be as easy to sort as his drawerfuls of clothing.

Antoinette still felt embarrassed the next morning when arrived at the office. Erik was just coming down the stairs as she was placing her purse behind the desk. She didn't know what to say to him. Ten long years of trust and companionship, shattered in an instant.

"You know, I've been thinking," she mused out loud. "You deserve some vacation time after all this... Paid vacation time, I mean..."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Why, I do believe you are correct," he said.

"You just let me know whenever you want off, and for how long..."

It was clearly a peace offering on her part, and though he wanted to continue to wallow in his hurt feelings, he knew he should take it.

"Thank you, Antoinette."

"There's no need to thank me," she rushed to say. "You've more than earned it."

There was an awkward silence in the room.

"Did you really think I would-"

"I was _afraid_ that you had," she replied. "I had hoped that you hadn't, but..."

They were both silent.

"It scared me," she finally admitted. "It scared me that something could have happened right in front of my face and I hadn't even noticed- and it seemed so unlike you, unlike the Erik I know- but-"

She paused before uttering the one word they had both avoided ever mentioning.

"But Persia..."

"I'm not that man anymore," he said, a sentiment they both knew to be true but one he found he needed to vocalize all the same.

"I know. You've never been that man to me. I've been fortunate to only know who you've been ever since you returned to France, the man who's professional and smart and witty and kind... when he wants to be," she added with a wry smile. "But you know, had it been anyone but Nadir who said it - I only thought he knew what he was doing - really, you should bring that up with him-"

"Oh, trust me - I have an entire guilt trip planned for him," he chuckled, and Antoinette smiled at last.

"I don't think any differently of you, Erik," she said softly. "And I hope that in time we can move past what happened."

"I hope so too," he sighed, and placed his hand over hers, giving it a squeeze. "We've been through too much together, I don't want this to be the end of the road for us... Besides, I don't think I could safely move the organ from the basement anyway."

She laughed at this, and he smiled. What happened to his rooms still felt like a sore subject for him, but he knew he'd recover from that in time. She was important to him, and he didn't want to lose her over this.

The arrival of Nadir interrupted him from his musings.

"Good morning," he said to them both.

Erik turned dramatically towards the bookcase, resting his forehead on his arm as he leaned against the shelves.

"There is he, Antoinette! Speak of the devil, as they say! Here is the fiend who wounds me so!"

Nadir gave him a look of annoyance.

"What?"

"Accused by my oldest friend! Save me from this horrible man who seeks to arrest me yet again!" he didn't turn to face him, but he still pointed and shook a spindly finger at Nadir.

Nadir huffed.

"I don't have time for this," he turned to Antoinette and handed her an envelope with some papers inside. "This is the information about the court date. It looks like it's going to be quite a trial... And very soon, too."

"Busy day, Nadir?" she asked as she took the envelope and glanced over its contents.

He ran a hand through his hair and sighed.

"You have no idea. Buquet gave us a list of Edwards's colleagues - we'll be making the arrests today. I'm sure there's more, too. We're hoping that they'll offer up the names of the rest of them in return for a lessened sentence. From what Buquet tells us, it sounds like that's an opportunity they'll jump to take."

"Do you need any help with anything?" she asked.

He shook his head.

"No, I think we have it covered. I'll see you later."

Erik still refused to face him, and Nadir hesitated a moment before rolling his eyes and leaving. If Erik wanted to be dramatic, that was his choice to do so.

"Do you forgive me, Erik?" she raised an eyebrow.

He turned around at last, a small smirk on his lips.

"Of course," he replied.

Antoinette was about to reply when suddenly the door opened once more. They both expected it to be Nadir, but it was Christine instead.

She glanced at Antoinette but her focus stayed on Erik.

"Good morning," she greeted them both.

"Good morning," Antoinette replied warmly, then, catching the look in Christine's eye, she quickly stood and headed for the door. "Excuse me, I forgot to ask Nadir something."

Christine shot her a grateful look as she passed by her, and Antoinette smiled wryly. She knew that Christine was hoping for a private moment alone with Erik.

"What can I do for you, my dear?" he asked anxiously, taking a few steps towards her.

She had an eager glint in her eye as she bit her lip, closing the last distance between them. She stood on her tiptoes and threw her arms around his shoulders as best she could, a task made easier when Erik stooped to meet her halfway.

"Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you so much. You saved my life yesterday, Erik. If you hadn't been there- I don't know how I can ever repay you."

It occurred to him that in the number of assassination attempts he'd thwarted in the past, none of them had ever said thank you afterwards. He squeezed her a little tighter.

"I could think of no greater honor than keeping you safe, Christine," he murmured to her, and her cheeks turned pink. "You don't have to repay me for that."

She pulled back just enough to meet his gaze. The look in his eyes was so tender it made her want to cry. How could he not be feeling the same things for her as she was for him? Perhaps not in the exact same way, but surely the same thing at its very core. He loved her - he had to. She was certain of it.

"I can't believe it's really over," she said in a small voice.

An emotion she couldn't recognize passed through his eyes. He let go of her and straightened up. She was right. It was over.

"I'm sure you're happy to have Raoul back with you," he stated.

"Yes," she picked her words carefully. "I am. But I'm disappointed also, that I don't get to spend my days with you anymore..."

Antoinette hesitated outside the door, not sure if she had given them enough time to talk about whatever they needed to talk about. But Erik saw her shadow behind the frosted glass window on the door.

"You don't need to be disappointed, Christine," he told her as he walked over to the door to open it for Antoinette, his voice professional once more. "After all, you don't really need any more singing lessons, you're already perfect."

He opened the door, surprising Antoinette on the other side. She entered the room, slightly flustered.

Christine felt a cold wave of dismay wash over her. Singing lessons? Was that what he thought she wanted from him?

"I might not need them, but what if I _want_ them?" her voice was soft as she picked at her own nails, so soft that he didn't even hear her.

"What all was in that envelope?" he asked Antoinette.

She handed him the envelope, glancing curiously at Christine as she did so. She had come back too soon, she realized - but perhaps it wouldn't have made a difference anyway - Erik seemed intent on ignoring something about the whole situation.

As she watched Christine stand there and chew on her lip, she wished she could simply pull Erik aside and spell it out for him - Christine was in love with him! He needed to acknowledge that, even if he was going to turn her down. But she couldn't go behind Christine's back like that, like _Meg_, not when she didn't know if Christine wanted her to. For all she knew, perhaps Christine had changed her mind about telling him. Perhaps she had decided that simply never speaking her feelings was easier than offering them up only to be rejected. No - if he was going to be told, it needed to be up to Christine how and when.

"Are you sure it's safe for me to be out and about, all alone?" Christine tried.

Perhaps she'd be lucky and Erik would have to keep escorting her everywhere... Maybe even for the rest of her life!

"I think you'll be fine," Antoinette assured her.

"From what Joseph says," Erik added. "It seems that with Edwards put away, the danger is past for you. Edwards was the one who was owed money, and everyone else realizes that the opera house can't afford any worthwhile sum. You should be quite safe."

She pouted a little and sat on the couch.

"It's going to be strange not seeing you every day," her tone bordered on whining, and she couldn't bring herself to care.

Erik glanced up from the papers he was reading. Christine was looking at him so anxiously, it made his heart twist. Apparently having her fiancé back had done nothing to curb the crush she had on him.

"We'll still be seeing quite a bit of each other at the trial," he told her, his lips twisting into a joking smile. "You can't be rid of me that easily, you know."

"I'm glad," relief broke out on her face.

She stayed at the office just a little longer, engaging in stilted small talk. She clearly wanted to talk about something specific, but she was also skirting around the subject, not brave enough to outright bring it up. Eventually she had leave for work, though she did so reluctantly.

As Erik watched her go, he realized just how much he was looking forward to seeing her at the trial, and just how much he was dreading when it ended.


	39. Chapter 39

The trial came, and the trial went. Sure enough, Nadir had been right to assume that it would go quickly. Deals had been reached with several of Edwards's former henchmen, and with their help there was enough evidence and testimony to put Edwards and his highest ranking associates away for decades. The lackeys and henchmen - along with the officers who aided or otherwise looked the other way - were charged as well, with varying severity of sentences, half a year to two years for those who complied and helped the investigation, and five years and upwards for those who did not.

Joseph Buquet, whom received nothing but commendation from Nadir and from Raoul, received a light sentence at their urging - a month in jail. Raoul had spoken with him after he received the sentence, assuring him that when he got out he would still have a job at the Opera Populaire and thanking him for coming forward.

The trial was painful for Nadir, and though he tried to not let it affect him, he found himself thinking about it at night and in the few moments of what should have been peace in his own house. To think that a police chief could do such wickedness - to think that there were officers who were willing to help him in those endeavors - and that there were even more who, while not participating themselves, still knew that it was happening and did nothing to stop it...

It turned his stomach. It wasn't only the illegal gambling dens, the money laundering, the blackmail - people had gone missing. People had died. And in a district where the law enforcement was the cause of injustice, who was there for the people to take up their concerns with?

It was something he vowed to change in any way he could. With most of that district's police officers now in jail, Nadir and another neighboring district were going to take on the responsibility for it in addition to their current territory. He vowed to be ever more vigilant, to not look away when he saw something that didn't sit right, to speak up when someone needed to speak up.

The trial hadn't been easy for Raoul, either. He often felt nervous during it, feeling the need to run from the building but having to sit still even so. He was thankful for Christine next to him, who held his sweaty hand and let him squeeze her fingers whenever he felt overwhelmed.

The trial was a blur for Erik - he was paying attention, of course, but he found his thoughts wandering and ruminating on something else, too.

He adored being around her, even just sitting in the same room as her - but it felt awkward, too, being there with Raoul. He didn't get very many opportunities to talk with her - the days were long, and she still had to practice for her shows coming up, and she was very often tired from it all - though the few moments they could steal were beyond precious to him, and she seemed to enjoy them too.

Still, she sat next to Raoul during the entire trial, holding his hand... Though Erik, sitting beside Antoinette who was sitting next to Christine, couldn't help but notice how her eyes strayed to him continuously even while holding the boy's hand. He felt flattered, but also sad - was she having second thoughts about her Vicomte? She shouldn't. He could never give her a normal relationship. She didn't know what she would be passing up if she sent Raoul away in exchange for Erik. He was constantly torn between rebuffing even her most innocent advances to spare her and wanting to spend as much time around her as he could while he still had the chance.

Raoul seemed entirely oblivious to the whole thing. Perhaps it was understandable - he had been through a terrible trauma. But did he really not notice Christine glancing slyly at another man the entire day? How she smiled at Erik even as she stood next to Raoul?

When Christine had to testify, she calmly explained the fact that she had stayed the night with Erik at his home. Erik's heart stuttered, and he looked nervously at Raoul, waiting for his reaction, but none came. Did he not care? Or was he simply that good at hiding his emotions?

He always felt a tinge of nervousness when testifying in a trial, though he had done so on numerous occasions in the past, but this time he felt an extra spike of anxiety when he got to the description of that particular night.

"Christine was with me at the office that night - we were only talking, though," he rushed to add, glancing at Raoul who seemed strangely unflustered by this.

He was certain that Raoul would make mention of it during the recess for lunch, but he was strangely silent on the subject as he and Christine approached Erik.

Perhaps it was because he something more consuming in his thoughts.

"He keeps staring," Christine whispered to Erik, wrapping her arms around herself and shivering.

Raoul, too, looked oddly pale as he inched closer to Christine, trying to evade the unblinking gaze of Edwards as he sat with his lawyer and stared at the trio.

"Just a few more days, Christine," Erik murmured, glaring right back at Edwards. "Just a few more days and he'll never see you again... Either of you."

"Oh, I hope you're right," she scooted a little closer, hoping that he might put an arm around her, but to her disappointment he either didn't realize her wish or didn't want to indulge it.

He was right about Edwards.

And just like that, the trial was over. The gavel came down one last time and Edwards and a handful of men were escorted out of the building and to the jail.

Papers shuffled and feet scuffed against the floor as people filed outside, the court case now in the past. Philippe and Raoul had a carriage waiting for them, and Raoul hugged Christine tightly before he went off with his brother. Christine, as soon as she had said farewell to Raoul, began to look for Erik. She found him quickly enough, and hurried to his side.

This was her chance! They had no real reason to see each other again - unless she made one.

"Erik," she said, a little shy. "We should go get lunch together. Would you like to?"

He considered this a moment.

"That's a good idea," he agreed.

Her heart fluttered and she grinned.

"Right now?"

"Of course. Antoinette should come too - Nadir, also."

Her face fell.

"Oh-"

"Did you want to ask Raoul, too?"

She felt flustered and tongue tied. She hadn't even wanted to ask Nadir and Giry!

"No-"

"Nadir's been wanting to try to this new place around the corner, I think they do soup and sandwiches, does that sound okay to you?"

She twisted her hands together. Did he not want to go with just her?

"Christine?"

She nodded, not meeting his eye.

"That's fine."

The four of them went to lunch together, and though it was enjoyable and an entertaining afternoon, it wasn't what she had been hoping to have.

There were moments when the three of them would be caught up in legal jargon that Christine had never heard before, and all she could do was nod along and pretend to be part of the conversation, and she realized with a sinking heart that perhaps she really wasn't part of his world - there was so very much they weren't able to talk about, not really.

But she couldn't complain - they did try to include her in conversations, talking to her about the opera and so on. Erik bragged about how well she could sing and made her blush.

All too quickly, lunch was over.

They lingered outside the little cafe, saying their goodbyes. Nadir wished her the best of luck in her singing career - "She doesn't need _luck_, Daroga," Erik sneered. "She is _Christine Daaé_ \- the opera house is lucky to have _her_!" - for he didn't know when he'd see her again. Nadir was more casual in his farewells to Erik and Antoinette, whom he knew he would see fairly soon, and Antoinette was certain that she'd be seeing both Christine and Erik fairly soon as well.

Christine and Erik - they were the last two to leave. They stood there in front of the cafe for a long moment, both of them silent because neither one knew what to say.

She didn't know why she should feel so awkward - this was _Erik_, for goodness's sake! Her Angel. She could tell him anything, couldn't she? But some small part of her couldn't help but feel that he found her affection for him bothersome. Hadn't Antoinette said she'd never known him to be interested in romance? She'd look a right fool to bring it up to him, knowing what she knew.

Erik, for his part, found a worrisome lack of words to say. What could he possibly say to her? How could he explain all the things he felt for her? Especially when she had someone else waiting for her... What was the use in bringing up how he felt when she was already promised to another?

"It's been... quite an experience," she finally said with a wry smile.

"It has," he agreed.

"I suppose- I suppose I'll see you around?"

"Perhaps, yes."

"You know where to find me," she tried to feign cheerfulness over her desperation - was he really going to let her walk away, just like that?

"I know where to find most people."

She laughed, and he smiled.

"Really though..."

"I'll be there to see your next show," he offered. "I'll come to all of your shows..."

"I'd like that," she said truthfully. "I'd like that a lot. Do you think-"

She ducked her head, not finishing her sentence, too embarrassed to ask him out on a real date. Wasn't the man supposed to ask? Why couldn't he just ask?

"Do you think you'll come by my dressing room door, afterwards?" she asked instead.

"Of course. I'll bring flowers."

"Mm. I want white roses, Angel. Don't forget."

"I won't," he chuckled.

"At my next show, then," she repeated. "I'll see you then..."

He gave a little nod.

She pursed her lips a moment, then nodded herself.

"Goodbye, Erik..."

He felt a great wave of panic for an instant - he needed to say something, he needed to do something, anything! - but then it passed, and he found himself saying-

"Goodbye, Christine."

She turned before he could see the pain in her eyes. As she set off down the sidewalk she replayed what she was realizing would be their last conversation over in her head. He wasn't going to show up at her dressing room door. He wasn't going to come to her show. Those plans were just all talk, things they'd say in the moment to make each other feel better, to pretend that this wasn't the end for them. It disappointed her to no end. Besides - her next show wasn't for another two months.

He watched her leave with a strange ache of melancholy. He, too, had sensed the finality of their conversation.

She'd forget about him eventually, he knew she would. And it would be for the best, too. She had a wonderful life ahead of her - a vicomtesse and an opera star. There was no place for Erik in that life, not really. She would go on as she had before, and he would too, and all of this would just be one brief instance in the history of their lives - one brief, glorious, liminal moment that he would cherish forever, even if she never thought on it again. He had been such a fool to let himself fall for a woman who was spoken for. No, forgetting would be best for everyone all around. He might cherish it, but he knew he had to put it at the back of his mind and focus on other things.

It was a task much said than done. He found the thought of her creeping into his mind at nearly every opportunity. He could only hope that it would lessen with time - how was he supposed to get anything else done if he was always distracted?

Four days after the trial had ended, he had to go to the grocery store. He thought of her on the entire walk there, but once in the store he found it somewhat easier to think of other things - though still she was there, inside his mind as always.

Erik frowned down at the bananas in his hands, trying to ascertain whether the small marks along the peels where merely normal marks or if they were perhaps bruises left over from where some simpleton had squeezed them. It proved too difficult a task and he put them back, deciding to get oranges instead.

From the corner of his eyes he noticed a figure he recognized. It was the Vicomte. He stared now, feeling his heart speed up - was Christine there with him? His eyes darted about, looking for her. But she was nowhere to be seen. It was only Raoul, a fact that bitterly disappointed him. With a last lingering hope that perhaps Christine was just around the corner that the boy had just disappeared behind, Erik abandoned his quest for oranges and followed after Raoul.

He found him on the next isle, near the liquor, placing bottle after bottle into his shopping basket. Christine was not there at all, and he very nearly continued on his way in light of that fact, but there was something about the boy that made him pause. It was the way his hand gripped the shopping basket so tightly, his knuckles turning white. The nearly imperceptible tremble to his hand as he reached for the bottle of gin. The look in his eyes, that haunted look that Erik was certain had been in own eyes when he was younger, a look that _had_ been in his own eyes just recently when he had been forced into a jail cell.

Erik walked down the isle slowly, footfalls making noise so that Raoul wouldn't startle at his approach. He stopped near him, glancing down at his shopping basket.

"Are you throwing a party, perhaps?" he asked.

Raoul glanced up at him and chuckled nervously.

"I- I've not been in the mood for parties very much lately, actually."

"Ah," Erik watched as he tentatively reached for another bottle. "A gift for your brother, then? No doubt he'll love them."

"No. They're for me," he hesitated. "I've just been having a bit of difficulty sleeping recently."

Raoul frowned, embarrassed at having said anything about it. Christine spoke well enough about the man, and he _had_ been the one to save him, but still - that mask unnerved him, and when he felt unnerved he tended to ramble and say more than he intended.

"What do you care what I buy, anyhow?" asked, irritated.

Erik shifted nervously. He hated opening up to people about his past, hated talking about those things, hated even having to think of it. Vulnerability was not something he dealt with very well. He always felt at a disadvantage whenever someone knew certain things about him. But he saw reflections of himself in the boy, and oh, how desperately he wished that someone had been there to offer advice to him when he was that age and in that situation. He couldn't change his own past, but perhaps he could help Raoul avoid his own mistakes.

"Because, Monsieur le Vicomte," he said in a low voice. "I have traveled quite far down the path you are currently on, and trust me when I say that this is not a road you want to take."

Raoul frowned at the bottles, saying nothing.

"You still see it, don't you?" Erik continued. "You close your eyes and you're back there again, in that room."

Raoul flinched away from him, tears welling in his eyes.

"I should be better than this," he whispered hoarsely.

"Unfortunately, it is not a matter of sheer strength of will," Erik sighed. "How _good_ one is has nothing to do with it..."

He reached into his coat pocket and produced a business card, holding it out to Raoul.

"If you ever want to talk about it with someone who understands, someone who's lived through the same thing, you can always give me a call."

Raoul nodded as he took the card from him, studying it before putting it in his own pocket.

"Thank you," he said.

Erik paused a moment longer.

"You're a good man, Monsieur le Vicomte. I'd like to see you stay that way."

And with that he took his leave. He knew firsthand how easily trauma could lead to vice which led to ruin, and he didn't want to see that happen to the boy, not for his sake, and most definitely not for Christine's sake.

Christine.

It wasn't until after the conversation in the grocery store that he even considered the possibility that in becoming close to Raoul, he might also have the chance to get close to Christine again as well.


	40. Chapter 40

It was the day after the incident at the grocery store, a weekend. Antoinette had taken the day off, meeting up with an old friend of hers who was visiting from out of town. Raoul hadn't called, and he felt a little silly about the whole thing now - he didn't expect him to call at all, now. Nadir was swamped with work - reform took time, it seemed.

Erik was at a loss with what to do with himself. He sat in front of his organ, but couldn't will his fingers to play. He picked up nearly every book he owned, only to put each one back on the shelf, unable to read more than a sentence or two. He didn't want to go outside, but there was nothing of interest in the office or his rooms.

Finally there was a knock on the door, and Meg stepped into the office.

"Are you busy, Erik?"

"Not at all," he tried to remain nonchalant, but he desperately hoped she'd stay a little while just keep his mind occupied. "Are you here to have another futile attempt at beating me in checkers?"

She smirked.

"No, not today. I'm actually on my way to the movies - I'm going to see a film with Christine," she paused, studying his reaction.

"Oh?" his eyes widened just slightly at her name.

"Yes," she said causally. "Would you like to come too?"

He hesitated, then shrugged.

"No, that's fine. I'm sure the poor thing is tired of having me around her, following her like a dog at her feet. Let her have her freedom," he told her.

Meg's shoulders slumped just slightly.

"Are you sure?"

"Go have fun, Little Giry," he waved a hand towards the door. "You don't want to be late for your movie."

She narrowed her eyes at him and left.

Christine was waiting just outside the movie theater, anxiously awaiting who might be coming to meet her. She caught sight of Meg and eagerly scanned the sidewalk for Erik, but he wasn't there. Meg shrugged helplessly.

"Did you ask him?" Christine said as soon as she got closer, her brow furrowing.

"He said he you should 'have your freedom'... I guess he thought you were tired of being around him," she explained.

Christine stood there, mouth gaping. Her foolproof plan, ruined!

"Well, what did he seem like?" she asked, uneasy.

"It's hard to say... He seemed interested when I mentioned you, but obviously he didn't come along..."

Christine sighed deeply. She had really been hoping he would have shown up. She'd talked over her dilemma with Meg for hours, and they'd finally decided the best course of action was for Meg to invite him along on a group outing - he'd think nothing of Meg asking him, it couldn't be considered a 'date' with Christine if he wasn't interested in that, and Christine wouldn't have to face the rejection if he turned the invite down.

But she hadn't been expecting him to not want to come. What was she supposed to do now? Did he not actually want to spend any more time around her? Had she truly been imaging any interest on his part? She blinked hard against the prickle at the corner of her eyes.

Meg put her hands on her hips and shook her head.

"You know, this could all be over in five minutes if you'd let me do this my way," she told her.

"Meg! No! Your way is embarrassing!"

"But it gets results!" she insisted.

"I don't want results like that!"

"You'd rather be stuck in this limbo instead?" she raised an eyebrow.

Christine considered.

"What, ah- what exactly would you say to him?"

"I'd say, 'Erik, you oblivious idiot, Christine has the biggest crush you. She writes her name next to yours in a notebook and then draws little hearts all around it. She already knows that earthly delights are of no interest to you but she desires your chaste companionship all the same. Now, should I tell her that you'll take her out to dinner or will I have to shatter her poor heart and tell her that you're not interested?"

"Meg, that's... that's the most mortifying thing I've ever heard. Please never, ever say those words in that order again..." she covered her face with her hands. "And the notebook thing was _one time_, and I never should have told you about it!"

Meg put her arm around Christine's shoulder.

"Well, I didn't tell him. I won't tell him anything if you don't want."

"You're a good friend, Meg," she sniffled. "I guess we should go watch the movie..."

But even inside the theater, her mind barely even registered the movie at all. She'd thought for certain that Erik liked her - even if it was just as a friend, he seemed to enjoy her company so much... Didn't he? She felt ridiculous over it. He had seemed so caring and sweet to her in ways that her previous boyfriends never had, but what if it had all been an act? What if that was merely how he was around everyone once he got to know them? And then she had to go and fall head over heels for him...

She was still mulling it over as they left the theater.

"What did you think of that ending? It didn't make any sense with the plot!" Meg scoffed.

"The what?" Christine asked, her brow knit.

Meg gave her a level look for moment.

"Oh," she sighed and shook her head. "You've got it bad, Chrissy."

Christine hung her head.

"I just need some time to get over him," she murmured. "This'll surely lessen with time..."

But later that week she still felt as melancholy as ever.

She'd gone to visit Raoul for the day, and they were sitting in the de Chagny gardens by the little pond when he brought it up out of the blue.

"What do you think of Erik?"

She started, then placed her hands over cheeks, trying to hide how red they were turning. They felt hot under her hands.

"What do you mean?!" she squeaked.

Raoul tilted his head.

"Do you think he's..." he struggled to find the words. "A good person? Trustworthy?"

"Yes..." she said slowly.

She certainly trusted him, at least.

"Yes to both," she added.

Raoul nodded.

"Why do ask?" she began to fidget, afraid that her lovesickness was now somehow visible.

It was Raoul's turn to fidget.

"I was just- well, I was thinking of going out with him, maybe-"

Christine flopped back on the grass and sighed deeply.

"Don't bother," she moaned. "It's useless, trust me, I tried."

"What?" he tried to keep up with her train of thought. "No, I mean, to talk with him."

"Talk?"

He nodded.

"He implied that he had- _gone through_ things... Similar to what I've gone through. And he offered to talk about it with me. And I thought- maybe I should take him up on the offer..."

Christine thought back to what Nadir had said about Erik's past, and how she had seen him react to being imprisoned. Her heart twisted at the memory.

"I think that's a good idea," she said softly.

"What's wrong, Lotte?"

She let the whole thing spill. She explained how she felt about him, that she'd never felt like with anyone else, she told the story of their awkward first meeting. She listed all the little things that made her think he loved her too.

"The only problem is he's-" she hesitated. "I also have a very good reason to think that he's not interested in me at all. I don't know if I'm just seeing what I want to see, or if there's actually something there. But either way, I can't stop thinking about him."

"I think you should tell him how you feel," Raoul offered. "You'll always be left wondering if you don't. It's not like you have to see him again if he rejects you. Besides, if he's taking up this much of your mind, it sounds like he's worth pursuing."

"I guess you're right," Christine said doubtfully.

She knew what was holding her back - it wasn't just the thought of Erik turning her down. It was the thought of finding out that every personal moment they had shared had never meant to him what it had meant to her. Still - Raoul had a point. She'd have to gather up her courage and simply ask him out.

It was, however, Raoul who ended up contacting him first. The following week he called him on the phone, much to Erik's surprise, and the two agreed to meet for lunch. It was slightly awkward at first, but Raoul was polite and well mannered, and Erik was able to relax just slightly around him.

At Raoul's request, they took a stroll along the Seine before lunch.

"I used to take so many walks everywhere," Raoul explained. "I miss doing so. But I haven't been very keen on walking by myself lately, you see..."

"Hmm," Erik nodded. "Have you been sleeping any better lately?"

"No," he frowned. "But- I'm only having two drinks a day now."

"That's good. That's progress."

"Did you used to drink a lot?" Raoul asked quietly, ducking his head.

Erik chuckled darkly.

"No, actually. I took something much stronger."

Raoul was quiet a long moment.

"What started it, for you?" he finally asked.

Erik sighed, considering how to best word it.

"When I was a child," he started. "I found myself in the... possession, of a traveling circus. It was understandably not a place I wanted to be, and my constant attempts at fleeing enraged my captor to the point that I was... kept in a cage."

It felt so strange to talk about. In some ways it was still too painful, but at the same time it felt far off and foreign, as though he were talking something that had happened to someone else.

"I was there for six years," he continued. "And when at last I was free from the physical bars, I found myself in yet another sort of prison, only this one was in my mind."

Raoul made a sympathetic noise. _Six years_. He couldn't even imagine.

"You can escape from physical bars, but prisons of the mind, you see, are sometimes harder to get out of," he continued gravely.

"But you did," Raoul said hopefully. "You got out, didn't you?"

Erik was quiet a moment, thinking of that awful night not so long ago and it's aftermath. When he had been in that cell, it had felt like nothing had ever changed at all.

"Yes," he said distantly. "Yes, I suppose I did."

They continued to talk as they walked along the river, then finally they went to cafe for lunch. They sat out on the patio, which felt so much more spacious to Raoul than sitting inside the small building.

"Thank you for this," Raoul told him after the waiter left. "It's hard to not have anyone to talk to about it... Philippe is trying his best, but..."

"But it's hard to understand unless you've been through it," Erik finished for him, and Raoul smiled in relief.

"Exactly," he agreed. "Christine was right about you - you're a good man."

"Oh?"

Christine had talked to Raoul about him? He felt a bead of sweat gather on his brow, suddenly reminded that he wasn't just having lunch with a young vicomte struggling to process his trauma, he was at lunch with the fiancé of the woman he secretly loved.

"Yes, she talks about you all time!"

His eyes widened and he sunk down in his chair a little.

"Oh?" he said again, feeling stupid.

"Oh yes. She thinks very highly of you, you know," he nodded.

"Oh. She's-" how did one describe Christine? She was perfection itself, but how to keep from coming on too strong about her to her beau? "She's a wonderful young woman. She's far too kind to say that about me."

The waiter returned with their food.

"Do you like Christine?" Raoul asked suddenly, as soon as the waiter was out of earshot.

Erik nearly dropped his fork in shock. _Like_ her?!

"I-ah, well, who doesn't like Christine?" he stuttered.

Raoul studied him with a critical eye, and Erik couldn't help but feel he _knew_. Poor innocent Christine had talked just a little too much about her Angel of Music, and now the boy knew that there was something more between them than just the love of music.

Except - there really wasn't anything between them. They hadn't kissed, they hadn't professed any sort of feeling that either of them felt - they hadn't even seen each other since the trial had ended! Erik knew how to keep a boundary, and apparently Christine did too. And even if she were to propose something more to him - well, Raoul certainly had nothing to fear on that account. There was nothing Erik wanted to do with her that would cause stares if they were to do it in full view of the public, anyway.

"Lots of people don't like Christine," Raoul said truthfully and shrugged. "It's something I'll never understand, but there it is, all the same."

"Lots of people are absolute morons, then," Erik sniffed, then leaned in conspiratorially. "You know, I'd always thought that to be true, but this is only confirmation of that fact."

Raoul laughed.

"I'm glad, then. She says you've helped her singing immensely. And I think," he paused. "I think you helped her as a person, too."

Erik could feel the very unwelcome prickle of tears in his eyes, and he frowned down at his plate.

"That is... good to know," he murmured. "I wish her all the best in her future. She deserves it."

The subject changed, and they began to speak on more pleasant things than lost loves, but Raoul now had the information he needed. As the afternoon wore on, he decided he'd like to think of Erik as a friend. He was a strange man, to be certain, awkward at times, but underneath all of that he could see the soul that Christine had fallen in love with, and he understood.

Erik, for his part, could grudgingly see what Christine saw in the boy. He was... charming. He was warm and kind, and it was easy to let one's guard down around him. Erik never would have guessed at Raoul's noble background - he was down to earth and unlike some, didn't flaunt his status. He did, on occasion, let his eyes linger over Erik's mask in a way that Erik didn't enjoy, though he made no mention of it like Erik feared he would. Erik decided to pass it off as mere curiosity, or perhaps the boy was just prone to lingering glances - he'd noticed Raoul's tendency to also let his gaze linger on the waiter.

The waiter, too, seemed oddly afflicted by the same condition - or, more realistically, the young man was simply too afraid to even glance at Erik. It would certainly explain the long eye contact he was making with Raoul.

The waiter brought the bill to the table, but then paused a moment. He nodded to the flower on Raoul's lapel.

"Are you in the theater?" he asked innocently.

Raoul's eyebrows raised, his hand coming up to touch the green carnation pinned to his clothing.

"Yes, I am... In the theater," Raoul said, returning the waiter's intense stare, swallowing hard before asking- "Are you?"

The young waiter merely smiled and ducked his head as he left.

Erik narrowed his eyes at the interaction as he finished the last of his sandwich. Theater people were strange sometimes.

Raoul cleared his throat and began a story about something lighthearted that had happened to him the other day. The waiter came back to take their plates after a few moments, and place a folded paper napkin in front of Raoul.

He paused in telling his story, unfolding the napkin to look at it. A flush of color came across his cheeks, and he tucked the napkin into his breast pocket.

"What is it?" Erik asked.

Raoul gave him a sheepish smile.

"It's- it's a phone number."

Erik considered this, and nearly came to a conclusion but his train of thought derailed when a pigeon landed on the table and tried to steal the last scrap of Raoul's food.

Raoul laughed about it, perhaps a little too anxiously, as though he was afraid that the subject of the phone number was going to be brought up again, but Erik didn't spare it another thought.

They walked over to Raoul's carriage, and Raoul offered to drop Erik off at the office, something he nearly turned down but decided to accept. When they stopped outside of Erik's home, Raoul thanked him again for spending the afternoon with him.

"We should do this again," he suggested.

"Whenever you like, Monsieur le Vicomte."

"Should I tell Christine you said hello?"

Erik squeezed his hands into fists.

"Yes," was all he could say, afraid that anything more would give away the longing he felt. "Please do."

It was late that evening that Christine lay across her bed in her dressing gown, hair wet from the bath she had just gotten out of. She pressed the phone receiver closer to her ear as she listened to Raoul's voice on the other end.

"I can't say for certain what he feels for you, Lotte. But I think he likes you. And I can say for certain - he doesn't seem like he's going to be the one to contact you. Christine - if you want him in your life, you're going to have to reach out him."

She sighed and turned her head, looking out the little window by her bed and gazing out into the moonless sky. Raoul was right, and she knew it.


	41. Chapter 41

Erik looked at his calendar for the fourth time in ten minutes. Had it really only been a mere three weeks since he'd seen her last? It felt like ages ago, which didn't bode well for the rest of his future. He'd thought that as time went on the pain of losing her (had he lost her when he'd never really had her in the first place? It felt like a loss all the same) would lessen, but if anything the ache he felt only grew stronger. He sighed and rubbed at his eyes.

He lived a life that his younger self never would have thought possible. He loved his life! Of course he did. How could he not? A steady and upright job, a clean and safe place to live, friends who felt like family, a number of acquaintances who never hassled him about the mask... He had his hobbies, his interests, and the time and money to keep up with them. His life was very much complete, really. So why did it feel like something was missing now? Why did the light in his life seem dimmer, duller with her not there?

During the entire time she had been under his care, he'd had one of the most productive periods of composing he'd ever had in his entire life - he could fill an entire book with the music he'd written from those months. But now, he sat in front of the organ and could barely play scales without feeling awkward and clumsy. The spark had gone out of his playing, the soul. Music just wasn't the same anymore.

He wondered what she was doing, even if it was just the most mundane of tasks. Was she at the opera house? Was she with Raoul? Perhaps if he grew close enough to Raoul, he'd get an invitation to the wedding. Perhaps they'd name their child after him. He pondered on this a while, and then decided that maybe he didn't want to be that close to them - he wanted her to be happy and to have all the things he could never give her, but to see her and know he'd never mean what he wanted to mean to her might actually hurt worse than simply never seeing her again.

But he had to get used to it, he knew. He had lived an entire life without her, and he had the rest of his life to go. He would miss her for- well, he thought he might miss her forever. But that was the way of things, wasn't it? He would get on, eventually. It would still be that life he had only dreamed of having as a young man, only now someone had left indelible prints across his mind and heart, and he would always be haunted by the ghost of what might have been - or at least, what might have been had he not been inadequate.

He found himself increasingly seeking time spent with other people, his previous solitary interests no longer interesting to him. He went to dinner at Antoinette's nearly every evening, sometimes helping to cook and other times cooking the entire meal himself, and Antoinette and Meg never complained when he wanted to stay late and clean the dishes. Meg would watch from the doorway sometimes, her arms crossed and her expression a little sad, remembering her promise to Christine that she wouldn't say anything.

Christine was likewise counting down the days on her calendar, chewing her nails as she looked at it. Finally, she made up her mind.

She changed into her favorite dress then sat down in front of her vanity, carefully styling her hair and applying her makeup.

When she was a child, her Papa had told her fairy tales and legends, and when she was a little older and in the care of Mamma Valerius she had read even more fairy tales and stories. They had enchanted her with ideas of great loves, of finding the other half of your soul in another person. She was a woman when she had finally learned the truth - that she was a complete person on her own, there was no missing piece of her to found somewhere out there in another person. She didn't need Erik to complete her - but she _wanted_ Erik by her side. Not as someone to fix the areas of her life that needed fixing, not as someone to blindly follow who would tell her what form her future should take - but as someone to hold her hand as she fixed and formed her own life, someone to share experiences with.

She applied one last swipe of lipstick and took a deep breath before stepping out of her flat. She tried to steady her pulse as she walked down to Giry's office. It was only the first step, she knew - asking him to accompany her somewhere. Once they were out somewhere and relatively alone, she still had to ask him about a possible future together. It was a lot to think about, so she focused on it one step at a time.

She tried to savor the walk to the office - it was wonderful to not have to worry so much over her own safety, wonderful to be able to have no company but her own - and she knew it would be even more wonderful if Erik would walk by her side once again, not because he had to but because he wanted to. She smiled at the thought of it.

It was a slow day at the office. Antoinette was looking through a fashion magazine while Erik skimmed the newspaper for photographs of politicians and businessmen to draw little devil horns and mustaches on.

"I'm thinking of taking you up on that paid vacation time," Erik murmured.

"Anytime. Do you have a destination in mind?"

"Anywhere but here," he said truthfully. "I think I need some time away, for a little while at least."

She made a sympathetic noise, about to ask him if he wanted to talk about what was bothering him when suddenly there was a little knock at the door before it opened.

Antoinette and Erik both looked surprised to see Christine enter the office. She looked nervously from one to the other.

"Christine!" Antoinette greeted her. "How are you? Is something the matter?"

Erik could only stare, dumbfounded.

Christine cleared her throat, surprised at how dry it felt.

"Could- could I speak with you alone in the hallway for a moment, Erik?" she said, her hands tingling with anxiety.

"Of course," he quickly stood and followed her out of the office, his mind swirling.

Had something happened? Had they not caught all of Edwards's associates? Was she in trouble?

"What is it?" he asked, concerned.

There was that same kind look in her amber eyes. She looked away, unable to stand seeing that and think it wasn't real...

"There's a jazz band playing at Au Chien Qui Fume tomorrow night," she said, still unable to meet his eye. "I thought maybe you'd like to hear them, with me."

Erik studied her, puzzled. That's what this was about?

"You... You want to go to dinner with me?"

She nodded swiftly.

"Yes," she glanced up at him. "Think of it as a thank you for taking such good care of me all that time."

He was utterly baffled. If he didn't know better, it almost sounded like a date. He stared, not moving.

Her courage faltered.

"Unless... You already have plans- it's such short notice, I know, but I was thinking-"

He should say no. Raoul wouldn't be pleased to learn of this, and they should make a clean break of it. There was nothing good for anyone involved that could come of this.

"You don't have to go if you don't want to," she finished, just a hint of sadness in her voice.

It would hurt them both, but it was for the best. He'd have to turn her down, he'd have to tell her-

"Yes," he blurted out. "I want to. I'll have dinner with you."

Her face lit up.

"You will?"

"I'd be delighted, my dear," he smiled.

"Oh, I can't wait! Tomorrow at seven, then? Do you know where the restaurant is?"

"Tomorrow at seven. I'll see you there," he confirmed.

"Thank you, Erik," she beamed. "I'll let you get back to work now."

She took her leave and he watched her go before going back in the office. Antoinette glanced up from the fashion magazine as he came back, his face mysteriously blank and his eyes wide.

"I think," he said, careful to keep his tone casual. "That I shall not be taking that vacation just yet."

Antoinette hid her smirk behind the magazine. She hadn't been able to hear whatever was discussed behind the door, but she didn't need to. She already knew.

He couldn't help the waves of anxiety that came over him the next night as he dressing for dinner. Was this a date? Surely it couldn't be, could it? Or _could_ it? What did she want from him, exactly?

While logically he could see that tonight was a bad idea, he was still looking forward to it. There was nothing _wrong_ with his typical life - but it was undeniably better with her in it. Tonight would be one last chance to bask in her glory before returning to the normal state of Christine-less existence. Oh, he was looking forward to it indeed.

She arrived at the restaurant first, the host escorting her to the semicircular booth towards the back of the restaurant that she had reserved. It offered privacy, something she felt they'd both be in dire need of tonight. As difficult as all of this would be for her to articulate, she realized it was probably even harder for him.

He arrived shortly after she did, asking to be seated at the _Daaé party_, and he felt a prickle of insecurity at his own lack of a last name. The host led him over to the booth, and Erik sucked in a breath at the sight of her.

Her hair was up in a twist, with several small curls framing her face. Her dress was jet black and elegantly tailored, with a neckline he found surprising for an engaged woman to wear to dinner with another man. She had a long string of pearls wrapped in successively longer loops around her neck, and matching earrings dangled from her ears. If someone had pointed her out in a room and said she was a princes, he would have believed it.

"I'm so happy you could come," she told him warmly, and he only managed an awkward nod in return.

He suddenly felt oddly underdressed, though he was wearing a dress suit and white tie. His hands involuntarily went up to fidget with his ascot and the obsidian pin he had placed there.

"Have you ever been here before?" she asked politely as her eyes roved over him.

"Hm? Oh, once or twice. But it was a while ago," he gave the room with its dark walls lit by candelabras a cursory glance before looking at her again.

"Raoul brought me here once. I've actually heard this singer before! She's so wonderful, I think you'll like her."

"You look _stunning_," he breathed, not able to help himself.

She blushed.

"Thank you - you look quite nice yourself."

The waiter came and took their order, leaving them alone once more.

"How was work?"

"Boring," he replied. "Besides, I'm sure you don't care about all that."

"How is your composing, then? Did you ever find a suitable ending for your most recent piece?"

He paused. How could he tell her that all the music had gone out of his life since had left?

"Not yet," he answered. "But I'm sure I'll find one eventually."

And he would - or else it would simply sit on the shelf forever, unfinished.

She took a careful sip of water, not wanting to smudge her lipstick. Erik found his gaze drawn again to her face - he'd never seen her wear her makeup like this before. It was theatrical, yet not in the way she wore it on stage. It made her look... oddly seductive. He pondered for a moment on how if that was what it looked like to him, what it must it look like to everyone else?

The band started up, and suddenly their attention was on the music. Erik relaxed into the booth, finally beginning to feel at ease. They shared small talk over what they thought of the songs, and sure enough, Erik approved of the singer.

"See," Christine laughed lightly. "I know what you like."

He smiled, but it faded. This felt awfully intimate, being here with her like this. It felt too much like a date - and it nearly frightened him that he _wanted_ it to feel like a date. What kind of sick web was he weaving for himself? Pretending to court the little wife of the vicomte he was supposedly trying to mentor, encouraging her attentions only to inevitably rebuff her, practically lying to Raoul's face?

"That's how I know you'll like the oysters, too," she continued. "They're delicious, you'll see."

He considered this all, thinking about how she had insisted on paying for the evening, how she was dressed, the atmosphere of the place with its dark shadows and smoky haze - a perfect place for a woman trying to hide a liaison with a forbidden beau. She leaned in a little closer to him, still smiling, and the words came out of his mouth before he could even think about stopping them.

He regretted it instantly - he should have held his tongue and enjoyed what he got while he could, but he also wanted to cut it short before she began to expect something he couldn't deliver - he knew he'd be crushed if she even alluded to a negative comment about him not wanting sex - and really, who in their right mind wouldn't want that with her, especially when she looked like this? Perhaps he really wasn't in his right mind. Perhaps he never had been. But that was why he had to speak up and stop it.

"Does your fiancé know you're here?" he asked quietly.

She gave him a quizzical look.

"I don't have a fiancé," she smiled a little.

His brow furrowed.

"Yes, you do," he insisted.

She laughed lightly and held both her hands out to him, wiggling her fingers.

"I don't see a ring, do you?"

He _had_ wondered why she didn't wear a ring, but still-

"You're engaged to Raoul," he stated.

She looked at him as though he had suddenly grown a nose.

"_What?_ I'm not engaged to Raoul - Erik, Raoul is _gay_."


	42. Chapter 42

Erik's mind was reeling.

Raoul was- Raoul was-

"The Comte said you were childhood sweethearts," he accused.

"The operative word there is we _were_, Erik," she said gently.

"Yes. You _were_ children."

"No - we _were_ sweethearts," she corrected, shaking her head. "We dated when we were teens, but... We decided we were better as friends than as lovers. There's nothing romantic between the two of us."

"But you kissed him-"

"As a friend! We're just friends, Erik, nothing more."

"And he's-?"

"He prefers the company of men," she smiled wryly.

"I see..." Erik stared straight ahead. "And you're-?"

Her brow knit.

"I'm what?"

He folded his hands on the table in front of him, his face burning red under the mask. He couldn't look at her, only at his hands.

"You are- single, then, I assume?"

She couldn't help but smile at his awkward manner - he reminded her of a schoolboy. Somehow here in this restaurant she finally felt the last of her shyness dissolve, as though they were the only two people here despite the band playing and the crowded tables around them. Was this truly the conversation she had put off and fretted over? It seemed so easy, now.

"I am," she agreed.

"Ahh, I see," his eyes flickered over to her and then away again as he absorbed this knowledge and it's possible significance.

"Did you think Raoul and I- all this time?"

"Philippe _said_," he pouted.

She wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

"You're- you're a terrible detective," she snickered.

"Chris_tine_," he whined.

"But- I'm glad you brought it up, actually... I've been wanting to talk to you."

"About?"

"About us."

"I'm afraid there is no 'us'," he said softly.

A hint of a frown passed over her face.

"There could be," she encouraged. "If we wanted to."

"Oh, Christine," he sighed, and finally met her gaze, shaking his head just slightly. His expression held all the sadness in the world.

She looked away this time.

"Let me finish, please- before I lose my courage..."

He nodded for her to go ahead, and she took a deep breath.

"I- I like you, Erik. I like you quite a lot, I have for quite some time now, and it's been recently that I realized just how deep my feelings for you go-"

"Christine-" he warned.

"And I want to be in a relationship with you."

He clenched his jaw, staring out into the crowd. The words he'd longed to hear, but now that they were spoken they felt like a death sentence. The poor girl, offering her heart up to him, not realizing this was the one gift he couldn't accept.

"I can't," he said simply. "You don't understand- I can't, Christine, we can't- I'm not-" he struggled with the words that would put an end to this once and for all, the words that stuck in his dry throat.

But he didn't have to finish them - she placed her hand on table near his own, close enough to show solidarity but not quite touching.

"I know," she said softly, soothingly. "I know you're not, Erik. I've known since the beginning. I know that it won't be like that for you, that it'll be different for us."

His jaw tightened and he pulled back for her just slightly. _Known from the beginning?_

"Am I that much of an aberration, then, that you could tell with a single look at me?" his voice was thick with anger and distant sorrow.

"No! No, there's nothing about you that made me think- Erik, I only know because Meg told me."

"Meg told you."

He looked away, desperately wishing he hadn't come here tonight. Was the oddity of him a frequent topic on Meg's tongue, he wondered?

"Erik," she lowered her voice, her eyes. "I know you're not interested in- in _sex_, but I'm interested in _spending time_ with you. I really like you..."

"You already spent time with me," he took a long sip of his water, not looking at her and thus missing the pretty blush on her face at the boldness of her own words.

"And that's how I know I want to spend _more_ time with you," she insisted.

"Christine, I'm afraid I don't know what you're proposing you want to do with me, exactly," but he was afraid he did know - and he was afraid it was also what he wanted, too.

Afraid he would finally get what he was hoping to have, only to lose it in the not-so-distant future. Better to never have it in the first place, maybe.

"To have a relationship with you," was her simple reply.

"I don't know why you'd want a relationship with someone you could never be intimate with," he said quietly.

She shook her head.

"We can't have sex, but that doesn't mean we can't be intimate..."

She scooted closer to him, and he finally dared a glance at her before looking away again.

"I want to learn what intimacy looks like to you," she continued. "And then I want to share that with you."

He swallowed hard. The offer was so tempting - but he knew how that would end.

"If you were with me... I don't think you fully understand what you'd be giving up."

She cleared her throat and looked away, her own face turning red.

"I've, ah, I've had boyfriends before, Erik... Ones who _did_ prefer the company of women... I'm quite... _familiar_ with the concept of what would be missing."

She watched him closely for a moment, waiting for his realization to sink in.

"Oh," he said dully.

If anything, the realization only made him feel worse. _Of course_ she had had relationships and all that would entail before, why wouldn't she have? In his naivety, he sometimes managed to forget that other people weren't like him, that other people had desires and urges - and that they often satisfied those desires and urges. He now felt weight of any possible comparison between him and previous boyfriends - except no matter how he excelled in other areas, they would always, always be one step ahead of him in this, an advantage he could never hope to overcome.

"I've thought about it a lot, Erik," she confessed. "About what it would look like to have a future with someone like you, what it would _feel_ like... And I'm willing to try it. I don't know if it'll work out, but- I want to try."

"You'd truly give up any chance at- at _normalcy_? I can never be normal for you, my dear, no matter how much I try."

"What's normal?" she shrugged. "We can find a normal that works for us."

He picked nervously at the cuff of his sleeve.

"That might not be quite as easy you'd like it to be..." he said quietly. "I'm afraid I'm rather a dog in a manger, Christine - if we were in a relationship, there would be certain amounts of affection I'm simply not able to return, and while I can't satisfy that need for you, I'm afraid I also couldn't stand to have you do those things with anyone else either... It's only me or nothing, Christine, and I'm afraid there's not very much difference between those options. It wouldn't be fair to you."

She pressed her lips together, thinking. She'd read the story of the dog in the manger as a child, and she still remembered it - about a dog who sat in the manger, barking and nipping at the horse who merely wanted to eat the grain that was there, grain which the dog had no use for yet refused to let anyone else have.

"I'm not grain in a manger, Erik," she said evenly. "And only I get to decide what I think is fair to me."

They were both quiet a long moment until Christine broke the silence between them.

"If you don't want to date me, Erik, I'll understand. I can't hold that against you. But... The past few weeks without you in my life... It made me realize just how important you are to me. And I think- if you would be agreeable to it, that maybe even if we didn't get involved romantically- I would still like to be friends with you," she confessed. "If you're okay with it, I want you in my life in any capacity that you feel comfortable with."

He felt he could scarcely hear her over the pounding of his heart in his ears - did she truly mean what she was saying?

She ducked her head, afraid she was making a fool of herself in front of him - he was so quiet.

"When I picture my future, I picture you there, too, Erik," she whispered. "It doesn't matter how - just that you're there. What about you? Do you picture me in your future?"

"I never dared to hope that you might-" he said in a tremulous voice. "That _we_ could have any sort of a future together- it's beyond anything I could ever dare to dream."

A smile spread across her face.

"So do you want to-?"

"I want to more than anything," he finally turned to look at her, his eyes sad and serious yet cautiously hopeful. "It's all I've ever wanted, but I was so afraid-"

"There's nothing to be afraid of," she scooted closer to him. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to. I just want to be around you, Angel."

Erik felt he could weep. Such words of acceptance that he could scarcely dare to even imagine, offered freely to him...

"I was afraid you would leave, if you knew," he whispered so quietly she almost didn't hear him. "That you wouldn't be interested, once you found out I was-"

"No, no," she soothed. "Not at all."

"And you truly want-?"

"Yes, I do," she tentatively reached her hand out to his, letting him be the one to close the rest of the distance and squeeze her hand tightly in his.

He blinked away the tears in his eyes, and Christine wished she could kiss them away but she knew that he should be the one to take the lead in what he wanted and was comfortable with.

"After what happened in the cellars," he murmured, rubbing his thumb across her knuckles. "After you saw my face... I was certain it was over. But you stayed. I never imagined I could be so lucky as to have you stay a second time - I never thought anyone could see past both my face and how I am - no one ever has, before."

"Well, I am glad then."

"Why?"

"Because, I would be mightily displeased to see my Angel with someone other than me," she squeezed his hand, and he chuckled.

"You are a miracle, Christine Daaé."

Her smile faded just a little, and she placed her other hand over their clasped hands on the table.

"It shouldn't take a miracle to love you," she said. "I'm sorry anyone ever made you feel that way."

"To what?" he tilted his head as though he wasn't certain he had heard her correctly.

Her face turned pink as she realized this was the first time she had told him those words.

"T-to love you," she stuttered a little. "I love you, Erik."

He leaned in until his forehead was resting on the top of her head, and she took the opportunity to lean a little closer to him as well.

"I love you too, Christine."

"Mm," she smiled happily, a tear or two gathering in her own eyes. "I want you to take the lead in all this... I want to know what you want from a relationship, Erik."

"Just this, Christine," he murmured as he sat there with her, holding her hands. "Just us."


	43. Chapter 43

**Author's Note: a few people asked for clarification on the previous chapter - this Erik is asexual, which means that while he loves Christine in a romantic manner, he does not feel sexual attraction to her (or anyone) and he feels put off by the thought of being physically intimate despite how much he cares about her. If you'd like to learn more about asexuality, please visit asexuality . org**

**Big thank you to all my readers and everyone who commented!  
**

Once again, everything had changed for them in one evening. Or, perhaps, it hadn't truly changed at all - perhaps what had been in their hearts and minds had merely been revealed to each other, and the truth of the situation had been laid bare before them.

Erik didn't know how long anything with Christine would last, but she was his for the moment, and he fully intended on savoring that moment, on taking in as much he could while he still could. He decided to take part of his vacation time after all, only he ended up taking Christine with him - they spent a lovely two weeks holed away in the countryside, two separate rooms in a cottage hotel. In the mornings they had picnic breakfasts near the wildflowers, in the afternoons they had tea and cookies before walking in the elaborate gardens, in the evenings they watched the sun set over the lake, and at night they stood under the stars and looked up.

With no distractions from work or other people, they found themselves in their own little world where nothing else mattered. Comfortable silence around each other often gave way to deep conversations about personal subjects, and in that fairy tale otherworld they felt they could ask each other about anything.

They were lying on the grass by the lake one night, staring up at the bright patches of stars, when Erik placed a hand on his mask, trying to adjust it to set differently.

"What's wrong?" Christine asked.

"It itches," he replied. "I usually take it off by now."

Her brow knit.

"Erik, you can take it off around me..."

"You almost fainted last time you saw it."

"No, I just- I wasn't expecting it, that's all. I really don't mind."

He turned his head to study her face, but he saw no untruthfulness there. He slowly reached up and removed the mask, and she maintained eye contact with him a long moment before looking back up at the stars.

"There," she said. "Isn't that better?"

He let out a shaky breath, not used to being bare-faced in front of anyone else. She reached her hand to his and squeezed it.

From then on, typically when the lighting was low, he would occasionally remove his mask.

"Does it hurt to touch?" she asked one night as she hovered her hand a few inches away from his face, only to quickly pull it back when he flinched.

"I don't think so. No one's ever touched it before... It doesn't hurt when I touch it, but it does get irritated by the mask."

She was studying him intently, her brow creased and her eyes narrowed. He knew part of her puzzlement was because it was so dark out tonight and she had trouble seeing distinctly. There was no moon to give off any light, only the stars - part of the reason he was allowing her to look.

They were sitting cross legged on the wooden floor of a gazebo in the garden.

"May I touch it?"

He took her hand in his and gently placed it on his cheek, holding it there where he could safely control it. She unconsciously sucked in a breath at the feel of it, and he darted his eyes away, letting go of her hand, but she kept her own hand there, her touch light as could be.

"Have you always looked like this? Even when you were born?"

"Always. I've worn a mask ever since I can remember."

She made a sympathetic noise and scooted closer as she removed her hand.

"Have you ever kissed anyone?" the thought came to her suddenly, and she asked, curious.

He narrowed his eyes, glancing away, and she noticed not for the first time how they seemed to almost glow in the low light.

"Yes."

"Did- did you like it?"

"No."

It had been so many years since, but even still the thought of Luciana brought a pain to his heart.

"But... It might be different, with you," he offered. "May I-?"

She nodded, breathless, and jutted her chin out, closing her eyes.

It was because of her closed eyes that she was utterly unprepared for him to attempt to kiss her facing _straight ahead_. With no nose in the way, he didn't realize he needed to angle his head.

Her eyes flew open in horror as her nose accidentally bumped the inside of his nose hole, causing him to pull back just in time to avoid sneezing into her mouth.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" she put her hands over her mouth.

He leaned over, wheezing and gagging.

"Oh Erik - you have to _tilt your head!_"

He gave her a sidelong look.

"I regret to inform you, my dear - that was not exactly an improvement on my past experiences..."

She bit her lip as he put his mask back on and sighed. This time he held her chin in place and purposefully tilted his head before making contact with her lips. Her eyes fluttered shut. It was a long moment before finally pulled back, considering. She held her breath.

"Was it good?" she asked.

He dropped his hand from her chin and ran his fingers over his own thin lips, thinking.

"You don't have to say you like something just because you think I like it," she reminded him.

"It is... not my favorite."

She nodded.

"That's okay. Thank you for trying it."

"One day we'll find something we both like," he said nervously.

"I like just being with you," she smiled, and he relaxed.

"I like being with you, too."

It was the next morning that he happened to hear her talking about him on the phone. He had only been intending to knock on her door and invite her for breakfast, but he paused when he heard her voice on the other side of the door.

"I miss you, too, Raoul."

He stood with his fist still hovering a few inches away from the wooden door. She was talking to the boy.

"Oh, you should see it here - it's so lovely. It's like a dream. I'm having a wonderful time, really."

He knew he shouldn't spy on her so, but he couldn't will his hand to cooperate with his mind and knock to alert her that he was there.

"And Erik-" she paused, probably listening to something Raoul was saying, then laughed lightly.

"Yes, you're right about that! Oh, he is! But truly, though..." she hesitated, then lowered her voice enough that Erik had to press his ear against the door to hear her. "I've never felt like this about anyone before. I just can't describe it. He's just... He's wonderful."

His heart ached with happiness. She had no reason to lie, to censor herself in her private phone call. She really did love him.

After she hung up he knocked on the door, and she greeted him with that precious smile of hers, and they went off to breakfast.

"You've been awfully quiet this morning, Erik," she noted.

"I have been thinking," he tried to be nonchalant, but she could tell he was nervous underneath. "We have been here, together, for nearly two weeks now... Together."

"Yes," she agreed.

"And I was wondering if, perhaps, this might mean - in theory - that Erik - that _I_, might be able to call you my... girlfriend?"

She smothered her laughter behind a sweet smile. He was adorable in his uncertainty, precious in his timidness.

"I would like it very much if you called me your girlfriend," she beamed. "Would you mind if I called you my boyfriend?"

"It's been a very long time since I was a boy, my dear," he hid what was visible of his blush in his teacup.

She snickered.

"Well, _manfriend_ doesn't quite have the same ring to it, doesn't it?"

"You are correct. Gentleman caller?"

"Erik! That sounds lewd!"

"They only getter lewder, I'm afraid," he said gravely.

She shook her head and wrinkled her nose.

"No thank you!"

"I'll be your boyfriend if you wish it, Christine," he said with a sheepish smile.

"I do wish it," she smiled. "Angel."

She raised her teacup to his in a small toast.

"To being boyfriend and girlfriend."

At last their two weeks of heaven came to an end, and they reluctantly returned to normal life.


	44. Chapter 44

Erik returned to work, and Christine returned to rehearsals, and they found that their time was slightly limited to spend together. Still, they tried the best they could.

Christine spent her lunch breaks with him, and for the first time in his life, Erik started eating lunch regularly. Occasionally their free time would line up, and they would go somewhere together - a walk by the river, a trip to the mall, to the cinema. They spent long evenings after work together in his basement, singing and playing the organ, and neither one cared if they were rather tired the next morning.

It felt much the same as it had been when he was her guardian, only now there was no looming threat around the corner, which helped them to feel more relaxed, and now they both knew without a doubt how they felt about each other.

It was an unorthodox relationship in many ways, but in other ways it felt much to Christine like any other man she'd dated (though far, far better) - even though he was her Angel, she still felt shy about certain things, like having him see her apartment for the first time. She had quickly learned, however, to not let that shyness stand in the way.

She took the plunge one night after a late dinner at a restaurant - with no living family members left, she had no one to introduce him to except her very own room, the space she occupied just as herself - it was, for her, a big step in the relationship, to be sharing such a place as her private refuge with him.

"Would you like to come in?" she asked as she unlocked the door - he typically only saw her to the door and then left, but she wanted to take this step with him.

"Certainly," he followed her in to the little flat.

It was charmingly decorated inside, a curious mix of old fashioned furniture and modern luxuries. There was a tall shelf filled with books and potted plants, and on the couch there was a pile of tangled yarn that was slowly becoming a scarf. The opportunity to see what shape her private life took when no one was watching was not an opportunity that was lost on him.

"Would you like something to drink?" she offered as he followed her to the kitchen.

"Tea?"

He wasn't thirsty, but how could he pass up the opportunity to drink a cup of tea that his girlfriend made for him?

"Of course," she set about preparing the tea. "I had such a lovely evening with you, Erik."

"As did I with you, my dear."

"A thought occurred to me the other day, and I wanted to know what you thought of it."

"Oh?"

"You told me, once, that you had tried to audition for the opera orchestra," she began.

He nodded, finding the memory didn't hurt quite so much when he was around her.

"And I was wondering-" she continued. "What if you auditioned again?"

"Play in the orchestra?" he echoed, considering it.

"Mm hmm. You know you'd only have to audition for Raoul, and the final decision is up to him..."

A thousand possibilities stretched in front of him, and for once - a lot of them were good.

"I could play for you while you sing," he realized.

She nodded, smiling.

"Yes! We would practice together and perform together, don't you think that would be lovely?"

"Beyond lovely... I shall consider this," he said slowly. "Don't say anything to the boy just yet, however."

"Okay."

They took their tea with and sat on the couch, both comfortably quiet for a few moments as they sipped their beverages. She gave him a sidelong glance, and he instantly knew what she wanted.

He set his teacup down on the little table before pulling her in close, his arms around her shoulders as he hugged her. She sighed happily as she cuddled closer to him, her own arms wrapped around his waist.

This was something that they'd been able to easily agree about early on - they both enjoyed being held by the other. Erik adored it, having her so close, but even though she insisted many times that she was fine with it never going farther than simply cuddling with him, he still had occasional doubts over whether or not she really did wish they could do more. She really was a darling, he thought, that she never made to push him beyond anything what he felt comfortable with. He did try to do as much as he could for her, things he didn't find appealing but didn't find _un_appealing, but in the back of his mind he still knew that mostly chaste kisses and cuddling her on the couch didn't quite compare to actually having sex. Would she tire of it, eventually?

"I wish I could be someone else for you," he murmured.

She squeezed her arms just a little tighter around him.

"I don't. I like you just as you are."

He smiled sadly.

"I know. But..."

"But what, honey?"

"But I still wish it," he chuckled darkly. "I envy all the people who find this so easy, people who are _normal_. Sometimes I imagine how easier it all would have been, had I been different... I would be different for you if I could."

Christine was quiet.

"I think, deep down," she finally said. "We all want to be something different than what we are, or who we are... at least a little bit."

He considered this.

"What do you mean?"

"When I was young, Papa and I used to travel a lot. We never stayed in a place very long, and I never had friendships that lasted long either, because we were always leaving. When I came here and finally settled, I envied Meg so much because she was so... _established_. She'd had friends she'd known since she was a little girl, and she'd spent years training to be a beautiful dancer - I'd never have that. No matter how much I'd practice, I'd never be able to dance at the same level she does, and all of my friendships will never span as far as hers do."

Erik listened intently - he hadn't known she'd been interested in being a ballerina.

"I told Meg this one day," she continued. "And do you know what she said? She was so surprised because _she_ envied _me_! She never got to travel at all when she was growing up, never got to spend weeks at the beach or in cottages in the mountains. All she did was train for dance... She said she wished she'd been able to grow up like me, even though she knew that I wished I'd had the structure of her childhood."

"A lovely sentiment, but I don't think anyone wishes they could be like I am," he reminded her.

"Mm... Maybe not, but you never know. I think we all want experiences we can't have, sometimes. You're not so different from anyone else in that regard. You just have to learn to live with what's there... and with what's not. My childhood wasn't bad, just different than Meg's. What you feel... what you _don't_ feel - it's not bad, Erik. It's just different. You _are_ normal, what's normal for you at least. Just like my experiences with travel were normal for me, even though it seemed so distant and strange to Meg."

"Are you happy, Christine?" he said, hesitating. "With us? With what's there? With what's- not?"

She smiled as she nestled her face closer to his chest.

"I am supremely happy," she said. "With you and because of you."

They stayed like that for a little while longer, neither one moving. Finally, Christine sighed sleepily and pulled back just a little.

"What do you want to do tonight, Erik?" she asked softly.

He pressed his lips together and looked away, that shy expression she'd seen so many times before when he'd been hesitant to voice the things he wanted to do with her, those oddly innocent things that seemingly held such significance to him and always made her smile.

"What?" she asked encouragingly, squeezing his hand. "What is it? Tell me..."

"I want- I want to brush your hair," he finally met her gaze, his tone strangely intense.

"Oh?"

She smiled as she stood and tugged on his hand, leading him to her bedroom.

She turned on the small lamp by her beside, the only light she lit. It cast the room in a warm glow. She then grabbed her hairbrush and turned to Erik. Tall and awkward, he looked like he didn't quite know what to do with himself in a woman's bedroom, but she found this all the more endearing. It occurred to her that he was the first man she'd had in her bedroom at this particular flat, except for Raoul.

She sat down on the bed, folding her legs under her, and she patted the spot right behind her. Erik quickly came and sat there with her, eagerly taking the hairbrush from her hand.

"You have to careful with brushing curls," she warned him as he settled himself behind her. "You have to use your fingers to help keep the curl's shape because-"

"I think I know how to brush hair, Christine," Erik huffed.

He took a small handful of curls and pulled the brush straight down through them. Where at first there had been three or four curls in a lovely form, there was now a massive poof of hair that spread out to twice its normal volume. He stared blankly at it, not moving. He hadn't been expecting this at all.

"-Curly hair is different," she explained apologetically.

He cleared his throat.

"What, ah, what was that you were saying about using fingers, my dear?"

With her instructions he soon became quite adept at his new activity. He marveled at the feeling of her hair under his hands and over his fingers, how soft it felt and how it shined in the lamplight. He was glad, also, that she had simply agreed to it without asking him why it appealed to him - he didn't quite know how to explain that it felt like a gesture of trust on her part and a gesture of service on his part. He brushed all of it twice over before finally setting the brush down.

"Do you want to stay the night?" she murmured.

He paused.

"Just to sleep. You don't have to," she reminded him. "You could stay on the couch, too, if you wanted."

"Not tonight," he said, running his hand gently over her hair. "Maybe another time, though."

They reluctantly walked to the door together, hesitating to end the night.

"Christine," Erik said suddenly. "What would you think if, perhaps, I- ah, if I were to... Keep some of my things here?"

"Things?"

"Yes, you know... Clothing... A toothbrush... Things. So that perhaps, in the future, if I were to stay over..."

"Oh! Oh, I agree, that would makes things much easier, if you had all that here," she felt the warmth in her face as she smiled. "Perhaps I should also have a few things at your place, as well? Just in case, you see."

"Just in case," he nodded gravely, and she giggled.

"Oh, I'd like that, Erik."

He scooped her into one last hug and gave her a brief kiss on the forehead. The look on her face as he pulled back told him just how much she appreciated the gesture - he didn't often kiss her, it wasn't something she ever asked for because she knew it wasn't his favorite thing to do, so the times when he did initiate it meant all the more to her.

They whispered words of love to each other before parting.

Christine sighed happily after she closed the door, the pleasant feeling from his kiss still lingering as it would all night.

Erik walked back to his own home, his heart feeling light and full. He could still feel her hair on his hands, her body in his arms. He didn't even realize he was grinning. It wasn't a feeling he was used to feeling - it wasn't even a feeling he ever expected to feel - but he knew without a doubt that he felt like the luckiest man in the world.


	45. Chapter 45

Three months. Twelve full, glorious weeks they had been together. He knew because he had made a little memo of the day that had turned out to be their first date and had stuck it to the wall with a pin, right above his dresser where he could see it each day as he dressed. He smiled at the sight of a few of her blouses and sweaters folded and laying next to his own shirts in his drawer - just like how she had a drawer in her own bedroom in her own apartment that contained some of his clothes, too.

Staying the night with each other wasn't always a possibility, and though he did savor having time alone by himself, he always looked forward to the nights they spent with each other.

He hoped she'd be staying tonight. She was coming over for dinner - or rather the two of them were having dinner at the Giry's, and afterwards they'd likely come back to the office. But first - he had a full day of work ahead.

By some miraculous effort, he managed to push thoughts of Christine aside and focus on the case they were investigating - until Antoinette brought it up during their short lunch break.

"Things still going well with Christine?"

Erik smiled softly.

"It's three months, today."

She smiled as well. He was fairly secretive about his whole relationship, and she tried her best to respect that privacy. Still-

"I don't think I've ever seen you smile so much as you have these past three months, Erik."

"I know, isn't it awful?" he mused and brought a hand up to his mouth. "I'm going to get _wrinkles_ from all this smiling, and then what will become of my handsome looks? My face will be ruined!"

She laughed and shook her head.

"I'm happy for you, Erik."

"Hmm, don't be too happy, my dear - you don't need anymore wrinkles, either," he said gravely. "They certainly do you no favors, I'm afraid."

"Any_mo_\- Erik!" she swatted at him with a napkin.

He dodged her halfhearted attack with ease. Although it had taken a few weeks, they had worked past any hard feelings after she had sacked his room, and he couldn't find the words to describe how grateful he was to still have her in his life.

They finished their work and went to her house, finding Christine and Meg were already there. The four cooked dinner together, each one preparing one course, and when all was finished they had salad, a main course, and two kinds of desserts (Meg had insisted on having two).

It was a lovely evening, and when at last they had run out of myriad things to talk about, Erik and Christine took their leave and stepped out into the night, heading back to Erik's home.

He glanced at her hand as it swung by her side as they walked in silence. He cleared his throat.

"Christine-" he started, but didn't know how to finish.

"What is it?" she followed his gaze, then understood and reached her hand out to his.

He breathed a sigh of relief.

"Thank you."

She only smiled.

They finished their walk in silence once more, each of them consumed with their own world, both of which just so happened to be focused on the other one. How nice it was, to walk hand in hand down the sidewalk.

Inside the office, Christine stretched and yawned.

"Are you tired?" he asked solicitously.

"Just a little," she admitted.

"Here, sit down and rest," he guided her to couch, but sat down first and then pulled her into his lap, hugging her close.

"You're so affectionate tonight," she giggled softly as she leaned into him.

"Nonsense," he scoffed. "I'm always affectionate. I am a veritable fountain of affection."

She snickered.

"I wasn't complaining."

"It's been three months," he said after a few moments in a softer voice.

"Hmmm. I know," she smiled. "I've been counting too."

They were both quiet for a long time, content to just be with each other.

"Would you like to have children one day, Christine?" he asked gently as he ran his fingers through her hair.

They hadn't talked much about the future, preferring to simply enjoy each other's company and focus on the present, but these thoughts kept Erik up at night sometimes.

Christine was quiet and still a very long moment, and he felt a pang in his chest as he realized he thought he knew her answer. Was she jeopardizing the future she wanted just so she could be with him?

She shifted a little in his hold, but still didn't speak.

"You can tell me," he said kindly. "It's okay."

She placed her arms around his neck and made a soft noise.

"Do you think I'm a bad woman if I say no?" she finally asked in a small voice.

He picked up one of her hands and kissed it.

"You could never be bad in my eyes," he murmured against her knuckles.

"You don't think I'm selfish?" she whispered.

"No, no - not at all. But you really don't want to? You're not just saying that to me, are you?"

She shook her head.

"All I've ever wanted is to sing," she glanced up at him shyly. "To sing, and to be in love... and to have someone who loves me in return."

"Hmm."

He was still a little uncertain if she was entirely truthful about it, but- that was nearly all he ever wanted out of life, too. To sing, to have someone love him for who he was, to live his life on his terms.

"It's not that I don't like children," she went on. "And it's not that I think it's bad to be a mother... It's just not for me, that's all. Madame Giry once told me that the hardest job in the world was being a mother, and I believe her."

"Especially if your child is Meg," Erik mused.

She giggled.

"I have a lot of respect and admiration for anyone who's a mother - but I just don't see myself as one. I never have, I suppose. And I don't think I ever will."

"Never?"

"Probably never."

"Probably doesn't sound certain."

She waved a hand in a gesture of annoyance.

"For goodness's sake, Erik! I'm being as honest as I can!" her smile was just barely hidden beneath her pout. "I might wake up one day in five years and entirely change my mind! I can't predict that! What do you want me to do?"

He laughed and nuzzled his false nose into her curls, bringing her smile out of hiding.

"But as far as I can tell, I'm almost certain that I don't want a child," she continued.

"Almost certain, hmm..."

It might not be entirely certain, but it was enough to build a future together on.

"Would you like to stay over tonight?" he murmured softly.

"Now _that_ I am certain about," she grinned.

She went upstairs to change into her pajamas and dressing gown, both of them much more comfortable than the dress she'd been wearing all day. Erik, on the other hand, preferred to stay in his usual clothing as long as possible.

She came back down and they played three hands of cards before turning on the radio. They slow danced all evening long, just the gentle glow of the moonlight shining in through the window and the soft sound of the radio playing song after song until finally she was too tired to keep her eyes open any longer.

He carried her up the stairs then, knowing that his bed was far more comfortable than the couch would ever be. It was lucky he was tall, he mused - it ensured that he had purchased a bed big enough for two, even though at the time his only concern was fitting his arms and legs comfortably. But Christine was small, and he knew she only wanted to be held as she slept, and he found he didn't mind, not even when they spent the night in her own rather smallish bed - it was worth a crick in his back or a stiff shoulder to be able to hold her all night long.

He settled her in his bed carefully before changing into his own pajamas behind a closed door. Christine - bless her - didn't mind at all that he took his mask and wig off to sleep. If anything, she only cuddled closer to him, and he had to blink back tears every time she did so - he'd never imagined such unrelenting acceptance.

That was how they woke up the next morning - both of them tangled together, her arms around his neck and her hair covering his eyes and tickling his nasal cavity, his arm underneath of her going slightly numb and his other hand pressing against her back to keep her close.

The sun was already up, painting black and white lines across them as the light filtered through the blinds. He was already awake she woke, but he was keeping perfectly still. She smiled up at him and squirmed, yawning. Antoinette had the day off, and as such they were in no rush.

"Did you have pleasant dreams?" he asked.

"They're always pleasant when I'm with you," she said sleepily.

He hummed.

"And what were they about?"

She scrunched her eyes shut, trying to remember.

"I was going shopping with Meg and we bought a parrot."

He huffed a laugh.

"And then I was at the beach... Meg wasn't there, but you were... Oh, we were, ah-" her eyes flew open as a blush crept across her cheeks as she smiled shyly at him.

"I'm sorry," she wrinkled her nose.

Erik searched her face for a moment, trying to understand. Suddenly, he did. He reached up and teasingly pinched the end of her nose between two knuckles, shaking her head gently and drawing a giggle out of her.

"Would this happen to be similar to the dream you had a few weeks ago?" he raised an eyebrow.

"_Yesss_," she turned her face to the pillow, embarrassed.

"And would you like a little while alone, perhaps?"

"You don't mind?" she asked softly, glancing up from the pillow.

"Never," he patted her shoulder and stood up and stepped into his closet to get dressed, taking only a few moments to do so.

Once he was dressed, he settled his wig and his mask as she watched and then he left after giving her one last smile, closing the door behind him.

She rolled over onto her stomach, pulling Erik's pillow close and burying her face in it, breathing in deeply. Frankincense and cinnamon. She smiled, burrowing herself under the covers, pretending he was still there with her, pretending it was his hand instead of hers. With the pillow clutched to her and the embrace of the blankets and his scent all around her, she could almost imagine it was him.

In truth, there were times when she missed the feeling of physical love. Had she been told about a romantic relationship without the physical aspect before she'd met Erik, she probably wouldn't have thought it terribly appealing. But, unlike some of the relationships she'd had in the past, Erik always went out of his way to show her how much he adored her. She knew he loved her more than anything, loved her with an undying devotion. Despite everything, she felt so incredibly close to him, felt that they shared a deep connection and intimacy. She knew that those things didn't need to come from sex - they weren't even guaranteed to come from that. She had been with a man in the past who had made her feel alienated and distant even though they had been physical together. Before now she might have assumed that a sexless relationship would make her feel uncertain, unloved and undesired - but there was no doubt of what Erik felt for her. He loved her all-consumingly, as much he possibly could. There was nothing to be uncertain about there.

If she had to choose, if she could start again, she knew she'd pick Erik over and over, a thousand times.

Downstairs, Erik sat at the desk with a cup of tea and scanned the newspaper for anything interesting, waiting for Christine to finish. Had it been anyone else in his bed doing what she was doing, he would have burned the mattress immediately afterwards, but Christine was good and pure and she could do no wrong.

She lay there a moment longer, catching her breath before getting up and drawing her dressing gown around herself. She combed her fingers through her messy hair as she walked down the stairs to the office, and Erik glanced up at her.

She smiled warmly at him, her face flushed with a pretty glow from both her previous activity and from the tender look in his eyes as he gazed at her. He held his arm out as an invitation, and she came over to sit on his lap, resting her head on his shoulder.

"Busy day today?" she asked.

"Hm, indeed. I'm helping Nadir with a few cases - I probably won't be back until early tomorrow morning."

"I'll miss you."

"You always say you'll miss me," he chuckled.

"Because it's always true," she nuzzled her nose against his scarred neck.

"Flattering child..." he pinched her cheek and she giggled.

"Well, would you rather I lie?"

"I should make a mannequin of myself for you," he mused. "Then you'll never have to miss me again. He could sleep in your bed when I'm not there."

"Erik!" she laughed and shook her head. "No, it's not the same!"

"Go get dressed, my dear."

"Your audition is in three days," she reminded him as she went back upstairs to dress. "Did you pick what songs you'll be playing?"

"I still have three days to figure that out, Christine."

Her muffled voice came from upstairs.

"Erik!"

She huffed about it as she dressed. That man could be endlessly frustrating, but she wouldn't have it any other way.

They parted for the day shortly after that, and she felt a little disappointed that it would be a while before she got to see him again. She worried for him, on occasion, especially when he was working on difficult or dangerous cases, but she knew he was more than capable.

It was later that evening, after she had dressed for bed and pulled the covers up and was she preparing to go to sleep that the phone on her nightstand rang. She quickly answered it.

"Hello?"

Her voice was breathless and full of hope.

"Did you think I'd miss saying goodnight you, Christine?" his warm voice wrapped around her through the phone.

"Oh, Erik!"

"Everything is going just fine here, I just wanted to let you know. Sleep well tonight, okay?"

"Okay. I love you."

"I love you too, sweetheart."

She fell asleep with a smile on her face that night - much like she did every night that Erik called her just before bed, every night that they didn't spend in the same room together. Of course, she always fell asleep with a smile on those nights, too.

Three days passed quickly enough, and before they knew it they were walking up to the opera house together, hand in hand.

He knew it was silly to be nervous, that it was only the boy (hadn't they talked on the phone half a dozen times, and gone out to lunch together a handful more?) but he couldn't help feeling odd about it, even still. The last time he had played for anyone other than Christine had been that horrible day that his mask had almost been forced off by the former manager.

Raoul greeted them both warmly, a firm handshake for Erik and a big hug for Christine. Erik felt the slightest flicker of annoyance and jealousy, but he reminded himself that Raoul was far more likely to fall for him than Christine. Besides, if it made her happy... He supposed he couldn't mind too much.

He found his nerves fell away a few seconds after he sat down at the organ bench.

"Do you need to warm-"

Raoul's question was drowned out as Erik's fingers began to fly across the keys. His eyes widened at hearing him play - he'd never heard anything like this before! Christine squirmed a little, realizing what, exactly, Erik had chosen to play.

At last the song ended and Raoul had already made up his mind.

"You're hired," he said immediately. "That was- that was amazing... I've never come across anything like that. What song was that?"

Erik turned around on the bench to face him.

"That was your requiem mass," he said smoothly.

The wide smile on Raoul's face froze, and when Erik gave no hint of it being a joke, he looked to Christine with confusion. She ducked her head with a sheepish smile.

"Well," she said apologetically. "We _did_ think you had died for a little while there... You know he composed that in less than a day, though!"

Raoul swallowed hard, the eerie feeling of a chill creeping across him at what he'd just heard. Still, there was no denying that Erik was everything Christine had said he was - a brilliant genius with true talent. He would be beyond valuable as an asset to the opera.

The contract was signed that very afternoon. Erik felt like he was in a dream - _him_, in the _opera_.

Raoul and Christine were both excited for him as well. Christine in particular was ecstatic, barely able to contain her joy.

"We have to go tell Madame Giry!" she nearly squealed, bouncing up and down on her toes.

Raoul tagged along with them, wanting to help share the good news.

Good news, but not surprising news, it seemed - when he opened the door to the office, he found Antoinette, Meg, and Nadir already there and surrounded by colorful balloons and crepe paper streamers hung on the walls. In the middle of the desk was a large cake that had 'Congratulations Erik' written on it frosting.

"You knew?" he asked, shocked.

Meg rolled her eyes.

"The whole world could see that coming, Erik! Of course he'd hire you - he's not dumb!" she punctuated her words with a blowout horn that squeaked as it unfurled.

Erik was touched at the kind gesture of his friends - he had mentioned the audition in passing, not wanting to put too much significance on the event, but his dear friends knew better than to let his triumphant arrival into the world of the opera to go unmarked.

In addition to cake, Nadir had also brought a large bottle of sparkling juice, which he poured into champagne flutes for everyone.

Raoul cleared his throat and held up his glass, motioning for a toast.

"To the future of the opera house and its performers and those that love them!" he declared, and clinked his glass with everyone.

They all followed along and clinked glasses with each other but when Erik turned to Christine, he paused.

As those amber eyes gazed into blue, they both seemed to grasp the significance of that moment in time. Their lives had changed irrevocably, and neither one would have it any other way. The future sprawled before them with near infinite possibilities and only one way of finding out what was to come. The world around them, which had paused for the briefest of moments, suddenly came rushing back in. Their glasses clinked against each other.

"To the future," Erik repeated, not breaking his tender gaze at her.

"To our future," she echoed, gazing right back at him with all the love in the world.


	46. Chapter 46

**A/N: this is the last chapter! Thank you to all my readers!**

Christine looked at herself in the vanity mirror of her dressing room. It was a very special night tonight. She had already changed into her beautiful dress for the show, already styled her hair, but her face was still bare. He always preferred to do her makeup himself, and truth be told, she preferred that as well. She fidgeted a little, turning the gold ring on her finger around and around to ease her nerves.

It was a very special night for more reasons than one.

She heard a noise behind her as the large mirror was pulled back to reveal Erik behind it, and she turned to grin at him. He returned a mischievous grin of his own, stepping into her room to help her finish getting ready. The gold ring on his own finger glittered a little in the lights if her dressing room as he clutched the gilded frame of the mirror as he stepped through, the plain gold ring that was identical to the one she wore, right down to the inscription inside which read _fate binds me to you forever_.

It had been exactly one full year since they had given each other those rings. Their first anniversary, and hopefully the first of many, many more.

"Did you warm up?" he asked, pulling her powder palettes and brushes together in a pile on her vanity.

"Did you?" she teased.

He waved a hand.

"Irrelevant, my dear," he tutted, and she giggled.

"I'm so excited, aren't you?" she sat back down, lifting her face so he could see it better in the light.

"Hmm, that does begin to describe it, I suppose," he murmured as he settled himself on her footstool.

"Are you nervous?" she held still as he began to brush her foundation powder on.

"That, ah, that might closer to an accurate description."

"Oh, Erik! It's just like any other performance."

Except it wasn't quite, and they both knew it.

They had spent nearly a year with Christine as prima donna and Erik in the orchestra. They both considered themselves quite adept at that situation by now. But tonight - Raoul had scheduled them for a small, one night only show, just Christine and Erik. It was his anniversary gift to them, a chance to sing on stage together and to share music that was theirs alone with the world... Or at least, with as much of the world could fit in the audience of the Populaire. Erik would play his own compositions on the piano while Christine sang, and, if he so chose, he would be able to sing as well.

He still hadn't made up his mind if he would or not.

At his insistence, the lighting crew knew to only put the spotlight on Christine even if he did sing, but he still felt uncertain. All of those people _looking_ at him...

He pushed the thoughts out his head, focusing on his task right in front of him. Applying her makeup had been something he'd taken to incredibly quickly, an art reminiscent of painting, and what could possibly be a better canvas than Christine Daaé?

Christine wondered sometimes about how often he had worn cosmetics in the past - she knew he had a number of products to hide the scarring down his neck, because she had both seen the bottles in his room and also noticed when he used them on the few occasions he was not able to wear a cravat. She thought of the false noses and facial prosthetics used by the opera performers, and if perhaps Erik, with all his cleverness, might be able to construct himself a face out of them and have the experience of not having to wear a noticeable mask in public. Perhaps, with an ersatz face, he might even be able to perform in an opera with her. Her heart fluttered at the thought.

"This or more?" he asked softly, and she opened her eyes to look at herself in the mirror.

"This," she said.

She didn't know how, but he always knew just how to make her feel beautiful. Beautiful, and loved. It made her heart ache, sometimes, in the most exquisite way.

"Thank you."

"Of course, Christine."

Before he could get up from the footstool, she leaned forwards towards him, one hand moving to cup his masked cheek just a moment before she moved the other hand up to the other side of his mask. She searched his eyes, her question clear in hers. He gave the smallest of nods, and she pulled the mask away just enough to press a kiss to his forehead. His breath hitched. She replaced the mask and smiled sweetly at him.

"For good luck," she said, and helped him to stand up.

Erik shuffled out onstage to sit at the piano that had been placed there, nervous despite the large curtain still being down. Christine took her position and nodded at Buquet, who began to raise the curtain and adjust the lights.

The show went splendidly. After the third song, they both paused a moment after the applause quieted down. She could hear her pulse in her ears, and she swallowed hard. They had discussed what they might do for the fourth, fifth, and sixth songs beforehand - either Erik would play more solos for her, or he would pick some duets and they would sing the last three together.

She glanced back at him as he sat in the semidarkness, ready to go along with anything he decided to do, and in that moment he made up his mind.

His fingers fell to the keys and began the duet.

A brilliant smile flashed across her face - the audience was in for a treat, and so was she.

There was a nearly audible collective gasp when Erik's voice joined hers. For weeks afterwards, opera goers swore that on that evening they had heard not two humans, but two angels singing the most lovely music.

There was no other way Christine would have wanted to spend their anniversary than sharing that moment with Erik. Erik, too, was struck at the sheer impossibility of turns his life had taken, turns he could have never seen coming - that would sing onstage with the most perfect woman who belonged to him, a woman that he belonged to as well.

Their voices rang out, song after song and at last ended, the lights turning off and the curtain dropping.

Erik sprang up from the piano bench and pulled Christine into his arms, and she returned the embrace just as fiercely.

"I'm so proud of you," she whispered. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

She pulled back and tugged on his hand, and he reluctantly followed her as she pushed through the curtain to stand in front of it. Erik felt his throat close up for just a moment, the spotlight on him and her far too bright, but he followed her lead. Still holding his hand, she raised both of her arms and then took a dramatic bow, and Erik followed suit.

When he straightened up, he couldn't help noticing that every person in the audience was standing and clapping. A standing ovation, for him. No one judging his mask. No one judging him. Just clapping, and cheering. A reluctant, unbelieving smile bloomed on his face, and they bowed one last time before Christine pulled them both back behind the curtain once more.

They were both positively giddy as they made their way to her dressing room once more and prepared for dinner. By the time they were ready to meet their friends on the sidewalk in front of the opera house, he was still grinning and his face ached because of it.

Antoinette, Meg, Nadir, Raoul, and one other young man were standing there to greet and congratulate them. Nadir bustled them into the waiting cab before the audience, who were starting to file out into the street, could catch sight of the stars and mob them.

The cab pulled off immediately, taking them to a particular fancy restaurant that Raoul had insisted on hosting them at. It was no real expense to him - under his direction, and with the help of his wonderful performers and musicians, the opera house had flourished in ways it hadn't ever before. Renovations had restored the building to a new level of splendor, and new programs were in place to both train future stars and to fund those who dreamed of performing but struggled to make that dream reality. Even after putting so much back into the theater and the community, there was still plenty left over to justify a few nights out on the town now and then.

Inside he cab, the young man leaned forward, extending his hand to Erik.

"I don't believe we've met," he said politely, and Erik paused only a second before shaking his hand.

"I am Erik, the pianist from the evening, as I'm sure you are aware," he glanced down at Christine. "And this is my-"

How did he describe everything Christine was to him? What was their relationship? What word summed up the effect of her presence in his life?

"This is my Christine," he said warmly, and she smiled up at him.

"It's wonderful to meet you both," he said. "I'm Oliver."

Erik wondered for a moment why Oliver was in the cab with them going to dinner, but Christine had only to glance at Raoul to realize.

"It's wonderful to meet you, too, Oliver," Christine said kindly, then turned to Raoul and added teasingly- "I'm sure we'll be seeing a lot of each other, won't we?"

"Very likely, yes," Raoul murmured, his face growing red.

"Raoul was telling me that you normally don't sing," Oliver said. "But I thought your voice was magnificent!"

"Ah, thank you. Yes, I'm normally in the orchestra - and when I'm not there, I'm assisting my dear Antoinette with her business," he gestured to Madame Giry, then shot a reproachful look to Nadir. "And when I'm not doing either of those things, I'm keeping an eye on the Daroga."

"Keeping an eye on- Erik!" Nadir sputtered.

"He will try to deny it," Erik continued. "But I assure you at least two other people in this very cab would agree that he needs eyes kept on him."

"Who?" Nadir demanded.

Erik shot a glance at Meg, and she immediately piped up.

"Sometimes when Erik isn't there, I keep an eye on him instead."

Nadir huffed and ran a hand through his hair, but he felt a grin coming on even still.

"You're both terrible," Antoinette shook her head.

"You love us," Erik insisted.

"Yeah, you do!" Meg added.

Antoinette looked away, her mouth in a straight line.

"She has to love you, Meg, you're her daughter, that doesn't even count. She loves _me_ for my sparkling personality," Erik declared, placing a spindly hand over his chest.

"Erik!" Christine pinched his arm.

"Why are you trying to pinch me? I'm right."

"Maman!" Meg gasped. "Say it's not true! Say it!"

But Antoinette refused to say anything (beyond the slight upwards tug at the corners of her lips), and Meg struggled to move from her seat so she could slap Erik, but her mother restrained her.

"This is what you get Erik," Nadir shook his head now. "Now everyone is mad at you."

"Hm. I naturally bring everyone together over a cause, it seems. Consider it a gift."

"That's not a-"

"You love me too, Daroga, admit it," he teased.

Nadir gave a long-suffering sigh and sunk down his seat.

"It's true," he admitted.

Raoul and Oliver exchanged a look, caught somewhere between amusement and embarrassment at the antics of the little group.

Raoul cleared his throat.

"Erik," Raoul said. "You know with the new budgets we've been able to do even more different shows per season... And especially after tonight, I wanted to offer you the chance to play in an operetta opposite Christine. We could have one written specifically for you and her. It'll be a shame to lose you from the orchestra, but your voice is just as powerful an instrument - if not more so - than your piano skills. What do you think?"

On stage? His mind reeled. It _had_ gone very well tonight...

"I'll think about it," he said. "I'll let you know."

"Of course! No pressure either way."

The conversations turned to something else, but Erik was still thinking of Raoul's offer. He'd never thought that he could ever be in an acting role on stage, that people might watch him and see _him_ as an artist and just not a freak in a mask. But tonight had shown him differently.

He never thought any of this would ever have been possible, either - that he could share his music with those who appreciated it, that he could be in a relationship with someone who loved and accepted him for who he was - that even after reaching middle age his life might still have the chance to get even better.

Life was full of unexpected - yet pleasant - surprises, it seemed.

He couldn't say for certain if he would accept Raoul's offer, though he couldn't deny that it would be fulfilling a long standing dream of his. And to play opposite Christine - he couldn't imagine anything better.

But that was a decision for another night. Tonight, he wanted simply to focus on the feeling that was still lingering from their recent performance, on his friends and their idle chatter, on his Christine and how she squeezed his hand in hers, and on the dinner they would all be sharing soon.

After dinner he knew they would go back to her place and discuss his dream of a possible future on the stage, but until that time he simply focused on the dream that was currently unfolding before him.

Dreams, it seemed, really could come true.


End file.
